Full text of "Sermons"
> JUN 17 196^ ^
BX 7233 .D8 1828
Dwight, Timothy, 1752-1817;
Sermons
SERMONS;
FEB 13 1912
?(CAL
BT
TIMOTHY DWIGHT, D. D. LL. D.
liATE PRESIDENT OF YALE COLLEGE.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOLUME II.
NEW HAVEN :
PUBLISHED BY HEZEKIAH HOWE AND DUKRIE & PECK.
1828.
DISTRICT OF COJVJVECTWUT, ss.
«.#»)tinnf,(» Be it remembered, That on the 22d day of March, in the fifty-
It ^ I ^^^o'^*^ y^^'" ^^ ^^^ Independence of the United States of America,
* * Timothy Dwight, and William T. Dwight, of said District,
********* Administrators of the Rev. Timothy Dwight, now deceased, and late
of the said District, have deposited in this office, the title of a Book, the right whereof
thej' claim as Administrators, aforesaid, and Proprietors, in the words following, to wit:
" Sermons by Timothy Dwight, D.D. LL.D. late President of Vale College, in
two volumes."
In conformity to the Act of Congress of the United States, entitled, " An Act for
the encouragement ol' learning, bj' securing the copies of Maps, Charts, and Books,
to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned."..,
And also to the Act, entitled, "An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled, 'An Act
for the encouragement of learning, hy securing the copies of Maps, Charts, and
Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such copies during the times therein men-
tioned,' and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of designing, engraving, and
etching historical and other prints."
CHA'S A. INGERSOLL,
Clerk of the District of Connecticut.
A true copy of Record, examined and sealed by me,
CHA'S A. INGERSOLL,
Clerk of the District qf Connecticut.
PRINTED BY HEZEKIAH HOWE NEW HAVEN.
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
page,
SERMON 1.
A just sense of the Character and Presence of God, a source
of Repentance. — Job xlii. 5, 6 5
SERMON IK
The Young exhorted to Sobriety of Mind. — Titus ii. 6. . . 20
SERMON III.
The Danger of losing Convictions of Conscience. — Matt. xii.
43 — 45 35
SERMON IV.
The Folly of trusting our own hearts. — Fror. xxviii. 2G. . 51
SERMONS V. VI.
The Prodigal Son.— LwAre XV. 11— 17 68
SERMON VII.
Those who believe not (he Scriptures, would not he persua-
ded, though one rose from the dead. — Luke xvi. 31. . . 97
SERMON VIII.
On Sloth.— Frot;. xxiv. 30— 32 114
SERMONS IX. X.
The Danger of frequenting Evil Company. — Prov. xiii. 20. . 131
SERMONS XI. XII.
The duty of remembering the Creator in Youth. — jEcc/c.v. xii. 1. 155
SERMON XIII.
The Youth of Nain.— Lwfcc vii. 11— 15 181
SERMONS XIV. XV.
Considerations in Adversity. — Eccles. vii. 14 2U
SERMON XVI.
Sermon on the Old Year, Dec. 1805. — Pi^alm xc 9. . . . 228
SERMON XVII. '
Sermon for the New Year, Jan. 1807. — ./er. xxviii. 16. . . 24S
/
IV CONTENTS.
SERMON XVIII. page./
Sermon for the New Year, Jan. 1809. — Luke xiii. 6-— 9. . . 258
SERMON XIX.
Long Life not desirable. — Job vii. 16 273
SERMON XX.
The Rich Man and Lazarus. — Luke xvi. 26 293
SERMON XXL
The Coming of Christ. — Luke xii. 40 305
SERMON XXIL
The Final Interview. — Eccles. xii. 7 322
SERMONS XXin XXIV.
Considerations on the Final Trial. — Eccles. xii. 14 338
SERMONS XXV. XXVI.
The Disappointments, which will take place at the Day of
Judgment. — Luke xiii. 28 — 30 367
SERMON XXVIL
The Harvest Fast— -Jer. viii. 20 401
SERMON XXVIII.
Considerations on the Character of Noah. — 2 Peter ii. 5. . . 418
SERMON XXIX.
Duty of preaching the Gospel — Gal. i. 8,9 433
SERMON XXX.
The Dignity and Excellence of the Gospel. — 1 Peter ii. 12.
Preached at the Ordination of the Rev. William Lock-
wood, at Milford, in 1785 ; and at that of the Rev. Nathan-
iel W. Taylor, at New Haven, in 1812 453
SERMON XXXI.
The Preaching of Paul before Felix. — ictsxxiv.2b. Preached
at the Ordination of the Rev. Samuel Merwin, at New
Haven, in 1805 479
SERMON XXXII.
The Purity of the Ministerial Character. — Matt. v. 13. Preach-
ed ft the Ordination of the Rev. Moses Stuart, at New
Haven, in 1806. . • • 505
SERMON I.
A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE OF GOD A
SOURCE OF REPENTANCE.
Job xlii. 5, 6.
/ have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear ; but now mine
eye seeth Thcc.
Wherefo9-e I abhor myself and repent in dust and a^hes.
Job, as every person who reads his Bible knows, was an emi-
nently righteous man. God himself testifies, that there was none
like him in the earth ; that he was perfect and upright ; that he
feared God, and eschewed evil. Still he was afflicted beyond
most other men. He lost his property, and his children. He
was distressed with a most painful and loathsome disease. His
wife treated him with the bitterest unkindness ; and his friends
put a finishing hand to his sufferings by insisting that they were
all exhibitions of the anger of God against him, on account of
his peculiar guilt. Job vindicated his character against these
charges with firmness and zeal. In the progress of the debate
both parties evidently passed the bounds of moderation. While
his friends attributed to him crimes which he had not committed,
and guilt which he had not incurred ; Job strenuously challenged,
in terms too unqualified, an innocence and a purity, to which his
claims were certainly imperfect.
When their dispute was ended, Elihu, a young man, who had
been a witness of their zeal, censured them all for their heat, for
the intemperance of their sentiments, the unreasonable imputa-
tions of the one party, and the unwarranted self-justification of
the other. At the same time he vindicated, in a becoming man-
ner, the justice of the Divine dispensations towards Job ,* exhib-
VoL. H. 2
6 A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE [SER. I
ited in a strong light the greatness and perfection of Jehovah ;
and urged, irresistibly, the duty of implicit submission to his will.
When Elihu had closed his discourse, God manifested himself
to this assembly of disputants in a storm, accompanied with thun-
der and lightning ; and answered Job out of the whirlwind, by
which they were borne along. In a series of sublime and won-
derful observations he displayed his own supreme excellence; the
immeasurable greatness, the incomprehensible multitudcyand the
unfathomably mysterious nature, of the works of creation and
providence. With these observations he interwove, also, strong
and overwhelming proofs of the littleness, ignorance, and imbe-
cility, of man ; and shewed, unanswerably, how impossible it was,
that such a being should judge, with any propriety, concerning
the divine dispensations.
By these discoveries of the true, great, and perfect character
of God, Job, as we might well expect, was deeply humbled, and
led to genuine self-abhorrence, and sincere repentance.
The great evangelical truth, which is contained in this passage,
thus illustrated, and on which I mean to insist in the following
discourse, is this :
That clear and just vieivs of the character, and presence, of
God naturalhj produce in the mind abasing and penitential
thoughts concerning ourselves.
This doctrine I shall attempt to illustrate by the following ob-
servations.
God is our Creator, Preserver, and Benefactor. He formed us
out of nothing ; breathed into our nostrils the breath of life ; and
caused us to become living souls. He made us wiser than the
beasts of the field, and the fowls of heaven ; and enabled us by
the light of reason to discern his character and his agency ; and,
by our moral powers, to love, and serve, and glorify, him forever.
The being which he gave, he upholds by the word of his power ;
and renders desirable by the exercise of his goodness. His mer-
cies to us are new every morning, and fresh every moment. Life,
and breath, and all things which we enjoy, are among the good
gifts, which come down from the Father of lights, with whom is
SER. I] OF GOD A SOURCE OF REPENTANCE. 7
?w variableness^ neither shadow of turning. AH these consider-
ations prove, indubitably, that in the highest possible sense we
are the property of this great and glorious Being ; in such a sense,
as nothing is ours. Indeed, nothing is ours, except what he has
given us ; and all the property which Intelligent creatures pos-
sess or can possess, in any thing, is created solely by the gift of
God.
From these considerations, it is evident, God has an absolute
right to dispose of us in whatever manner seems good in his sight :
Particularly, he has an unquestionable right to prescribe for us
such laws, and require of us such services, as he pleases. What-
ever he prescribes we are bound by the highest possible obliga-
tion to obey : whatever he requires, we are by the same obliga-
tion bound to perform.
This unlimited right God is infinitely able to vindicate. His
power is immeasurable. Disobedience to his commands he can
punish without bounds, and without end. He knows every
avenue to the heart ; and can make every' thought and every
nerve, a channel of suffering. To escape from his eye or his
hand, is alike impossible. Every clement, every faculty, and
even every enjoyment, he can convert into a minister of ven-
geance. He needs not the famine nor the pestilence, the storm
nor the thunder-bolt, the volcano nor the earthquake, the sword
nor the sceptre of tyranny ; to execute his wrath upon his rebel-
lious creatures. He needs no lake of fire and brimstone to tor-
ment the workers of iniquity. He can arm an insect, he can
commission an atom, to be the minister of his anger. He can
make the body its own tormentor. He can convert the mind it-
self into a world of perdition, where the gloom of despair shall
overcast all the faculties ; the sigh of anguish heave, and the
stream of sorrow flow forever.
In the possession of this mighty power he is still just. No in-
telligent creature will ever find a solid reason for complaining of
God. His commandments concerning all things are absolutely
right. I do not intend, that they are right, because they are his
commandments : they are right in themselves. The things
a A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE [SER. I
which they require, are the very things which wisdom sufficiently
informed, and virtue sufficiently pure, would choose to do in pre-
ference to all others. In themselves therefore, they contain am-
ple reasons why they should be done by us.
At the same time he is infinitely good. " Thou art good^''''
says David, " and thou dost good ; and thy tender mercies are
over all thy worlisy Even in this rebellious world he has not
left himself without abundant witness, ^''in that he gives us rain
from heaven and fruitful seasons, and fills our hearts with food
and gladness.'''' Our health, our food, our raiment, our friends,
our hopes ; the nameless and numberless enjoyments which suc-
ceed each other without intermission, and flow in an unceasing
stream through the period of life ; and peculiarly, the means and
proffers of life beyond the grave ; are all daily and divine proofs
of the kindness of our great Benefactor. From Him who does
these things, to such beings as we are, what blessings would not
descend were we better. Were we innocent ; can we doubt,
that our thorns and briers would bloom with the beauty of Para-
dise ? Were we of an angelic disposition ; can we hesitate to
believe that earth would be changed into heaven ?
Of the goodness of God his mercy is the consummation and
glory. When we had ruined ourselves, and had none to save, or
even to pity us ; he sent his Son, his only beloved, to redeem us
from our sins, and to rescue us from perdition. He sent him to
endure the contradiction of sinners, and to undergo the death of
the Gi'oss. At the tidings of this wonderful work heaven opened
its gates to receive mankind ; and thousands and millions of re-
penting sinners entered the path, which leads to immortal life ;
and found themselves welcomed in that happy world, with Sijoy,
never exercised over just persons loho need no repentance.
He is also our Ruler, our Judge, and our Rewarder. The uni-
verse which he has made, is his own empire. All the beings by
which it is inhabited, are his subjects. The dominion which he
exercises over them, is dictated by the glorious perfections which
I have mentioned. To rebel against it, is to oppose the excel-
lence and authority of the Ruler, and the interests of his immense
SER. I] OF GOD A SOURCE OF REPENTANCE. 9
and eternal kingdom. Those, who rebel, he will therefore sum-
mon to judgment ; and demand from them an account of all the
deeds, done in the body. According to these deeds they will be
judged and rewarded.
From these considerations, he, who realizes them, will perceive
in the clearest light that in every sin, he is guilty of gross injustice
to his Maker, in refusing him that which is his by the highest and
most unquestionable right ; an injustice, at which he would start,
were it practised upon his neighbour ; of bold and impious re-
bellion against his righteous government ; of gross and dreadful
ingratitude to his goodness and mercy ; and of an impious disre-
gard to his perfect and glorious character.
The guilt, inherent in all this wickedness, will be mightily en-
hanced by distinct perceptions of the puntij of God. Behold, the
heavens arc not clean in his sight ; and his Angels are charged
with folly ! How ahominahle then, ought every sinner to ex-
claim, how filth ij am I, who drink iniquity like water. That every
Intelligent creature ought, in some good measure, to resemble his
Maker in this attribute, will not be questioned, except by a mind
peculiarly gross and guilty. It cannot be soberly doubted, that
both our thoughts and our lives ought to be clean. Accordingly,
we are taught that good men, of course, aim assiduously at this
character. " Every man that hath this hope in him,'''' saith St.
John, '■'■purifieth himself, even as God is pure.'''' But nothing can
more strongly enhance the sense of our impurity, than a compar-
ison of our own character with that of God. We cannot but dis-
cern that the all-perfect Mind, infinitely distant from every stain,
must demand an absolute freedom from pollution in those who
are to dwell with him, and obtain an interest in his everlasting
love. What abasing views of himself must this consideration,
strongly realized, awaken in the mind of every sinful being ?
The same effect will be exceedingly increased by just appre-
hensions of the transcendent Greatness of God. The importance
which a sinner attributes to himself has no existence, except to
the jaundiced eye of pride. Yesterday we were formed of the
dust : to-morrow we go down to the grave. From our birth to
10 A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE [SER. I.
our death we are frail, dependant, helpless, little, ignorant, and
polluted //•07?z the crown of the head to the sole of the foot. Still
we are proud of ourselves, and of our circumstances. How strange
is this conduct ! How weak ; how sinful ; how unhappy ! There
is no method in which thismiiserable spirit can be extinguished,
or even lessened, so effectually, as by bringing God before our
eyes. To the view of solemn thought what a being must He be,
who called the Universe out of darkness ; who spoke, and it was
filled with inhabitants ; who himself fills immensity ; who inhabits
eternity ; whose smile makes heaven ; whose frown makes hell ?
Who can be profitable to such a Being ? Who can be necessa-
ry ? Were heaven to be emptied of its Angels at once ; his word
would replenish it again with others equally wise, great, and
good. What then must we be ? Nothings less than nothings and
vanity.
As it is impossible, that he should need us or our services, it is
certain that he requires nothing of us for himself; and that all
his commands are given for our good, and not his. Of course,
all the advantages, derived from our obedience, must be our own.
He will not be benefited. We shall be better, and of course hap-
pier.
But from his hand we need all tilings. We are of yesterday,
and know nothing. If our mental darkness is illumined, the
light must come from heaven. Our strength is weakness ; and
of ourselves we can do nothing. All our sufliciency is from God.
His breath animated our lifeless forms. His power quickened
our souls into thought, and action. We breathe his air ; we live
upon his food. His arm guides us ; his hand sustains us ; his
mercy calls us to the possession of eternal life. ^ We are nothing,
we have nothing, we hope for nothing, but what he is pleased to
give. With these considerations in view, our importance and
our pride sink in the dust. In this manner good men have, in all
ages, learned and loved to abase themselves. Thus David, in the
eighth Psalm, strongly affected with a sense of the greatness of
God as displayed in the works of his hands, cries out with the
deepest humility : " When I consider the heavens, the work of thy
SER. I.] OF GOD A SOURCE OF REPENTANCE. 1 1
fingers^ the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained ; uohizt,
is man, that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man, that
thou visitest him /" Thus, also, Job exclaims in the text : " /
have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear ; but now mine eye
seeth Thee. Wherefore I abhor myself and repent in dust and
ashes.''''
All these considerations will be mightily enhanced, and their
efficacy powerfully increased, by the recollection of the Omni-
presence, and Omniscience, of God. The consciousness, that this
great and awful Being is wherever we are ; accompanies us
wheresoever we go ; and surrounds us in crowds, and in solitude ;
gives a solemnity to our existence, and an importance to all our
conduct, which can be derived from nothing else. What an eye
is that which is employed in searching the hearts, and trying the
jeins, of the children of men ; which is always looking directly
on our hearts ; which, as a flame of fire, shines into the recesses
of the soul, and changes the darkness into day ; which has watch-
ed all our sins from the beginning, and has seen every impious
and profane, every ungrateful and impure thought, word, and ac-
tion ! What a hand is that, which has recorded all these things
in the book out of which we shall be judged ; and will open to
us the dark and melancholy pages, at the final day ! How must
the presence of such an eye and such a hand make every sinner
turn pale with conscious guilt, and tremble at an approaching
judgment ; if he be not blind, and deaf, and dead, in trespasses
and sins !
When we call to mind what an appearance we must make be-
fore Him, tvho is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity, and can-
not look upon sinners ; how can we fail of seeing ourselves in
some measure as God sees us ? of thinking concerning sin as he
thinks? and of feeling in our hearts, that, as our guilt is of the
deepest die, our punishment must be dreadful ?
Were all these considerations regularly present to the mind ;
were they daily and deeply realized ; they must, one would be-
lieve, almost necessarily make a thinking man sober ; a sober
man serious ; a serious man awakened ; an awakened man pen-
J 2 A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE [SER. I.
itent ; and a penitent man watchful, prayerful, diligent and vig-
orous, in the performance of his duty. Particularly, if we have
any just views of sin ; it is scarcely possible that they should not
become more just, more solemn, more intense, and more effica-
cious, in persuading us to confess and to renounce our transgres-
sions. The more just these views are, the more powerful must
be their efficacy. In the mind of an enlightened christian, espe-
cially, they cannot fail to produce the happiest consequences.
Such a Christian will feel as Joh felt ; and exclaim as he exclaim-
ed, " / have heard of Thee by the hearing of the ear ; but now
mine eye seeth Thee. Wherefore I abhor myself and repent
in dust and ashes.''''
REMARKS.
From these observations we learn,
1. The Reason, why the great body of mankind have so im-
perfect a sense of their sins ; viz. they have no just, solemn,
constant apprehensions of the character and presence of God.
They have very few and very feeble apprehensions of the Char-
acter of God. Let me address this consideration directly to this
assembly. When most of you, like most of your fellow-crea-
tures, think of God at all ; is it not true that you think of him
only as a Being, who, although in various attributes superior to
yomselves, very much resembles you in other respects ? Do you
not feel that he made you solely, or at least supremely, to pro-
mote your own enjoyment, or in plainer English, the gratifica-
tion of your passions and appetites ? Do you not feel, that as he
has created, so he is bound to provide for you, and that chiefly,
as your own pleasure dictates ? and that all the obligation lies on
him to bestow, while your whole concern is to receive and enjoy?
Whenever you perceive or mistrust any defect, or any fault, in
your conduct, is it not the habitual course of your thoughts to
charge it upon him, and to clear yourselves ?
Do you realize that he made you, that he preserves you, that
you live solely on his bounty, that he is your Lord, that he is
S ER. I] OF GOD A SOURCE OF REPENTANCE. ] 3
your Judge, that he will be your Rewarder beyond the grave ?
All these things you may, I acknowledge admit as a conclusion
from premises which you cannot deny. The great question,
here intended, is ; do they come home to your hearts, with a
solemn conviction of their reality ? If you realized them, could
you live as you have lived ? Do you not, on the contrary, habit-
ually feel that you are your own property ; made for yourselves,
and not for his service ? that, when he does not satisfy the de-
mands of your passions and appetites, he is unjust ; that, when he
interferes with your concerns, he is arbitrary ; and, that when he
aflicts you, he is odious ? And do not all these wretched conclu-
sions flow from false, loose, and solitary apprehensions of his
character ?
Are you not equally destitute of any just apprehensions con-
cernmg his Presence ? When you lie down, do you remember,
that he only keeps your habitations from the flames, or preserves
you from death ? When you awake, do you call to mind that, if
God had not awaked you, you would have slept the final sleep,
and your eyes never have opened again upon the light of the liv-
ing ? When you eat, do you perceive whose hand spreads your
table, and fills your hearts with food and gladness ? When you
profane his name, do you remember that he hears ? When your
imagmation loosely roves after impure and gross objects, do you
mistrust that he sees ? Have you even dreamed that God entered
at first the secret chambers of your souls ; and that he dwells
there, beholding with an awful survey all your forgetfulness of
him, your violations of his law, your abuse of his grace, your de-
votion Xothe lust of thefesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride
of life ? He has numbered your prayers. What, think you, will
be the amount, when that number is rehearsed at the final day ?
He has inhabited your closets. How many times has he seen
you visit those sacred recesses, to converse with him ? He has
met you in his house. Have you found him there ? Had you
truly seen his presence, could you have sent your thoughts on
vain and sinful excursions to the ends of the earth ? Could you
have laughed, and whispered, and wantoned, away the ffolden
Vol. n. 3
14 A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE [SER. I.
hours of salvation ? Could you have slept before the mercy-seat ;
and dozed away your accepted time at the foot of the cross ? The
Sabbath is the day, the Sanctuary is the house, of God. Both
were instituted, to bring you directly into his presence. Has this
ever been their effect ? Have you not even here felt, that God
was afar off, in an unknown and distant country called heaven ;
where he was wholly occupied with his own concerns, and had
neither leisure nor inclination, to attend to you ? Upon how ma-
ny Sabbaths can you look back with comfort, or even with hope ?
Is there one, the transactions of which you would be willing to
have rehearsed at the day of judgment, or made the ground of
your future reward ?
Could you daily and hourly say, " Thou God seest we," and
feel what you said, would it be possible for you to be so quiet ; so
hardened ; so stupid in your sins 1 Could you go on so quietly
towards the miseries of perdition ? Could you so gaily, so spor-
tively, see the distance between you and heaven become every
day greater and greater ? Would you not tremble at the thought
of provoking afresh the anger of this great and terrible Being ?
Would not your instinctive language, at the sight of every temp-
tation, at the approach of every sin, be : " How can I do this
great wickedness, and sin against God ?''"'
Remember, that in all this conduct you are inexcusable. To
realize the presence of God is absolutely in your power. It de-
mands no supernatural assistance, any more than to think or to
feel, to study or to labour.
2. Let me urge upon the sinners in this house the great duty of
bringing home to their hearts the character, and presence, of God.
If you are ever to have a just sense of your sins ; you must de-
rive it from this source. All our obligations to obey God arise
from his character, as a Being of supreme perfection ; and from
the fact, that we are indebted to him for our existence, and for
all its blessings and hopes ; from the perfect nature of his law,
and its absolute tendency to glorify him, and to produce the com-
plete happiness of his immense and eternal kingdom. Of such
importance is this tendency, as to justify the declaration on his
8ER. I.] OF GOD A SOURCE OF REPENTANCE. 15
part, that heaven and earth shall sooner pass away, than one jot ^
or one title, of the law shall fail, until all shall he fulfilled. In
proportion to these things is the guilt of sin great and terrible.
But this truth cannot be felt, unless you bring home to your
hearts the character and presence of your Creator. Were this
duty done, you could no longer be at ease in Zion ; no longer se-
cure and light minded in your iniquity, and gay on the brink of
destruction. It is because God is not in all your thoughts, that
you do not fee from the wrath to come, and lay hold on eter-
nal life.
When the Israelites, at the foot of Mount Sinai, beheld the
presence of God in clear view, all the people that were in the
camp trembled ; and earnestly besought him, that he would speak
to them no more, except by the mouth of Moses. But a few
days afterwards, they made a molten calf, and worshipped it ;
and sacrificed thereunto ; and said, " These are thy Gods, O Is-
rael, which have brought thee up out of the landof Egypt.''"' The
reason of this otherwise inexplicable conduct was nothing else,
but that they had forgotten God their Saviour, who had done
such great things in Egypt. All other sinners are, in these re-
spects, exact copies of the Israelites. Whenever they bring the
Divine character and presence to their hearts, they begin to see
their sins in some measure as they are ; they learn their true
character ; they open their eyes upon their guilt ; they tremble
at their danger. But when, as is the usual fact, God is not in all
their thoughts, they become secure ; bold ; strong; impious ; re-
gardless of sin and hell, of holiness and salvation, of God and
their own souls. The language of their hearts, if not4«f their
lips, is, " To morrow shall be as this day, and much more abun-
dant.''"' " yVho is the Almighty, that we should serve him ? or
what profit shnll we have, if we pray unto him ?"'"' All the differ-
ence, between the most hopeful thoughts and emotions, in the
mind of a convinced sinner, and the most hopeless circumstan-
ces of a stupid impenitent, may be explained, by the existence,
and the want of, a solemn, proper, and affecting sense of the
character and presence of God. What a mad maa is he, then,
IQ A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE [SER. !.
who forces this awful but immensely profitable subject out of his
mind ; and who is satisfied to go to perdition, if he may only have
a smooth and quiet passage !
3. Let me urge this great duty, also, upon the Christians in
this assembly.
You, my brethren, are no less bound to advance in holiness, than
sinners are to become holy : for both these duties are enjoined by
the same authority. At the same time, there is a law in your
members, ivarring continually against the law in your minds, and
bringing you under captivity to the law of sin, which is in your
members. You, like all other Christians, are perpetually prone
to forget God, your duty, and your salvation. All these, let me
exhort you to remember, are forgotten together. The world
takes their place. Sin resumes its power. Temptations crowd
upon the soul ; transgression succeeds ; our duty is feebly done,
or left undone ; and the door is opened wide for repentance and
sorrow.
Purity of life is maintained, and improvement in hoHness ac-
quired, only by a constant and lively sense of the presence of God,
He is the sovereign, who demands this character of us. No oth-
er being is lord of the conscience : no other being can direct the
faith, or enjoin the duty, of Intelligent creatures.
He is always present to see whether we obey, or refuse to obey^
this solemn requisition. What he sees, he records ; whether it
be good, or whether it be evil.
By what solemn obligations, then, by what amazing interests,
are you bound to realize his presence ; and to remember that his
all-searching eye is open, day and night, with an awful survey^
upon your hearts, and upon your lives. A clear apprehension of
this truth cannot fail deeply to affect your minds ; to take strong
hold on your hearts ; to prevent, or drive away, temptation ; to
rouse you from sloth, and sleep ; and to awaken you to the dan-
gers of this seducing world. When God is before your eyes, can
you fail to remember the riches of his grace ? the wonders of re-
deeming, forgiving, and sanctifying love ? the solemnity of the
Covenant, in which you have consecrated yourselves to his ser-
SER. I] OF GOD A SOURCE OF REPENTANCE. 17
\ice ? and your mighty, as well as endearing, obligations to ])urify
yourselves, even as he is pure ? When God is before your eyes,
can you fail to remember how delightful it is to please him ; how
odious to dishonoui him ; how mischievous, how painful, to
wound Religion, and pierce the hearts of your fellow Christians ?
In the presence of this awful Being how can your sins fail to ap-
pear in their black and proper colours ? How can they fail of be-
ing detested, renounced, and, in a good degree, forsaken X A
constant dread of sinning will, therefore, seize upon your hearts,
and become a governing principle of your moral conduct.
To forget, or to be insensible of, the presence of God, is to lose
sight of your best good ; to weaken your sense of duty; and to
expose yourselves to every temptation. Had David remembered
this glorious and awful Being ; had he called to mind the just and
sublime thoughts, which he has uttered in the cxxxix Psalm ;
when he commenced the career of his iniquity with Bathsheha ;
what a long train of dreadful crimes, what a long course of bit-
ter repentance, what a melancholy series of excruciating distres-
ses, would have been prevented ! Had Peter remembered the
inspection of the all-seeing eye, he would not have denied his
Lord ; the pages of the Gospel would not have been stained by
the record of his fall ; and his own soul would have been saved
from the anguish of many sorrows. The nature of these is the
nature of all good men. In themselves weak, frail, and back-sli-
ding, they have no safety but in God. But where shall we find a
promise, that this Divine Protector will extend his guardianship
to any man, at seasons, in which He is forgotten. Were it possi-
ble for the inhabitants of heaven to cease from a consciousness
of the presence of God, there is reason to fear that they would
cease, also, from their unspotted virtue.
To prompt and to aid mankind to the performance of the duty,
enjoined in this discourse, is one of the great benefits, intended
by the worship instituted in the Gospel. The sanctuary derives
its importance, its solemnity, its sacred character, not from the
splendour with which it may be built, nor from the rites with
which it may be consecrated, but from its Diviije Inhabitant. On
18 A JUST SENSE OF THE CHARACTER AND PRESENCE [SER. I.
the door-posts, on the altar, of every temple, every Christian
should read the name of the city, seen in vision by Ezekiel, '■'■ Je-
hovah is here.'''' " Surely," said Jacobs ^'■Jehovah is in this place;
and I knew it not. How awful is this place ! It is none other
than the house of God, and the gate of heaven.'''' Hither we
come to see his face, and seek his favour ; to confess our sins,
and supplicate his mercy. Here he meets us to pity, to forgive,
to bless, and to save. All our transactions, here, are with God ;
and irresistibly bring this glorious Being immediately before our
eyes. Every good man, every man in whom piet} is alive, will
feel, therefore, as a pious Israelite felt when he stood before the
cloud in the Temple, from the bosom of which the awful voice of
Jehovah answered the prayers of his people, and uttered the
oracles of life.
From the house of God these solemn apprehensions are car-
ried with us to our own habitations. They revive, they are invig-
orated, in the morning and evening sacrifice. But they are espe-
cially quickened in the closet. From this sacred retreat the
world is shut out. No earthly eye looks on : no earthly object
intrudes. Here we bow before our Maker, and converse with
him face to face. Our souls are naked before him. Our hves
pass in review ; our sins are set in the light of his countenance ;
our penitence, our faith, our love, our comforts, and our hopes.
God, thus intimately seen in this private temple, is seen through
the day, till we revisit the same solemn recess, and again con-
verse with our maker. Thus, a sense of the divine presence be-
comes the habitual and controlling state of our minds.
Thus aided, thus cultivated, the good man learns to find God
in all places, and in all things. This great Being becomes pres-
ent to him in every enjoyment, which he shares ; in every afflic-
tion, which he suffers ; in every hope, which he indulges ; and in
every advancement, which he makes in the Christian life. To
the eye of such a man Jehovah is present, lives, and acts, in all
the works of his hands. His smile is the beauty of the spring ;
his breath its fragrance. His hand pours out the riches of the
summer, and the bounty of autumn. The thunder is his voice :
SER. I.] OF GOD A SOURCE OF REPENTANCE. 1 9
lightnings are his arrows. He makes the clouds his chariot ; he
rides upon the whirlwind. The earth is his footstool : the heav-
ens are his throne. In the sun, the brightest material image of
his exahation, immutabihty, and glory, he gives light, and hfe,
and comfort, to the unnumbered millions of animated creatures ;
and holds out to the eye of the mind a magnificent symbol of
heaven's everlasting day. Thus, every where, he lives, controls,
and smiles in all the works of his hand.
In his Word he is seen in diviner forms. There his goodness
and mercy, beam with a mild and soft, but immeasurable glory,
in the face of the Redeemer. There his voice is heard in the awful
threatenings of his law, and the delightful promises of his Gospel.
There he shines, a moral sun, into the soul ; and awakens in it
the life, which shall never die. Animated, comforted, invigo-
rated with hope and joy, the Christian draws nearer and nearer
to God, and beholds him in clearer and brighter view, until his
soul, entering the regions of eternal rest, opens its eyes upon the
glories of heaven, and is admitted to behold his face in right-
eousness forever and ever. — Amen.
SERMON II.
THE YOUNG EXHORTED TO SOBRIETY OF MmD
Titus ii. 6.
Young men, likewise, exhort to be sober-minded.
In the first verse of this chapter, Titus is directed by St. Paul
to speak, while performing the duties of his ministry, the things,
which become sound doctrine. Of such things there is given in
the following verses a catalogue ; distributed into several divis-
ions, and directed to several classes of mankind. The duties of
the aged, and of the young, are summarily pointed out ; as are
also the obligations of Titus to enforce them by his own authori-
tative injunctions.
The particular character, which he is required to urge upon
young m.en, is Sobriety of mind.
The original word, cwfpw«i/, denotes, in its primitive sense,
soundness of mind^ in opposition to madness, or distraction. In
this manner it is extensively used by Greek classical writers, as
the proper contrast to (iMvsaeav, which signifies to be mad, or de-
lirious ; and to this sense we are directed by the original words,
of which the term is compounded.
But, as soundness of mind, thus understood, and madness, are
not at all dependent on our moral efforts, they cannot be the
subjects of commands, or exhortations. The word, a^^ovitv, there-
fore, is, here, undoubtedly used figuratively : the only manner, in
which, so far as I have observed, it is ever used in the Scrip-
tures.
. In selecting this passage of Scripture as the theme of discourse,
it is my design,
I. To enquire what is meant by being Sober-minded ^
SER. II.] THE YOUNG EXHORTED, &c. 21
II. To suggest some Reasons for the adoption of this charac-
ter by the Youths who are before me.
I. / shall enquire what is meant by being Sober-minded.
In answer to this enquiry I observe in the
1st place, Sobriety of mind denotes that habitual state, in which
we are prone to estimate things according to their real Value.
The members of the Corinthian church were very desirous of
those miraculous gifts, which, during the Apostolic age, so much
engrossed the attention, and awakened the astonishment of
mankind. Particularly, they coveted the gift of speaking with
tongues ; because it engaged this attention, and produced this
astonishment, in a peculiar degree ; and rendered those, who
possessed it, objects of distinguished admiration and applause.
Yet St. Paul solemnly declares to these Christians, that he would
rather speak fine words in the church with his understanding y
than ten thousand words in an unknown tongue. What was the
ground of this decision ? St. Paul himself has told us. " In the
church,'''' he says, " / would rather speak five words with my un-
derstanding, that by my voice I might teach others also, than ten
thousand words in an unknown tongue :" as it is rendered by Dr.
Macknight, " / would rather speak five words with my meaning
understood, that I might instruct others also.''^ Nothing could
with more force teach us, that St. Paul, under the direction of
God, felt himself bound to estimate every thing, whether natural,
supernatural, or moral, according to its Utility ; or, in other
words, according to its real Value.
To this complete decision of the Scriptures, Common sense
joins her strongest attestation. No man is ever pronounced wise
by the dispassionate voice of his fellow men, who does not esti-
mate things in this manner, and who does not regularly prove by
his conduct, that this is his habitual mode of judging.
I will illustrate the subject by examples.
The value of Business, that is, of such as is honest and useful,
is incomparably greater than that oi Amusements, or what is ap-
propriately styled Pleasure. Business, wisely followed, procures
for us property, knowledge, the capacity of being useful to our-
Voi,. II. 4
22 1'HE YOUNG EXHORTED [SER 11
selves and others, reputation, comfort, and many other blessings.
Amusements procure none of these blessings ; but either prevent,
or destroy, them all ; and have no other value, even when inno-
cent, and confined within rational bounds, except as they yield
us a trifling degree of enjoyment, or as they invigorate us for fu-
ture business. When they are immoderate, or in their nature
sinful ; they are only pernicious.
Still we find a multitude of youths, and among them many of
those who are present, consider their amusements as of very
great value ; and their business as of very little. The appropri-
ate business of these youths is the acquisition of knowledge ; of
knowledge highly valuable in itself, and invaluable as the means
of future usefulness to themselves and others. This preference
does not spring from sobriety of mind. It does not accord with
the dictates of a sound, uncorrupted understanding. It is hostile
to the true interests of the man, by whom it is made; and has
cut off thousands and milHons of youths from knowledge^ prop-
erty, reputation, comfort, and hope ; and plunged them in dis-
grace, beggary, and ruin. Surely such a mode of estimating
things is not the result of soundness of mind. The judgmentj
here exercised, is that of a mind, whose faculties are disordered,
whose optics are bedimmed, whose vision is disturbed or ob-
scured.
The preparation for business, and all the means of accomplish-
ing it, being indispensable to its existence, have exactly the same
value. Study is the preparation for knowledge, and knowledge
is the indispensable means of useful business, to the youths in
this assembly. To prefer amusement to study is a proof, that
the mind is disordered, which is exactly of the same nature. Not
indeed, that it is disordered by that kind of delirium, in which the
violent passions predominate, and the miserable subject of it is
tossed by wrath, revenge, and fury ; but of the kind, which is
gay and sportive, engrossed by trifles and gewgaws, and blown
about by a spirit of frivolity. Happy would it be for mankind,
if this species of madness were never found without the walls of
befilalm. Happy would it probably be for some of those who are
before me, if it were'not found within the walls of this seminary.
SER. IL] TO SOBRIETY OF MIND. 23
Eternal things are of more value than temporal things. The
soul is more valuable than the body ; as an immortal being capa-
ble of endless knowledge, virtue, and enjoyment, is of more value
than a mass of dirt. Heaven is better than this miserable world.
The sufferings of perdition are moie numerous, and more dis-
tressing, than any, which are undergone by piety, in its struggles
to secure the everlasting love of God. Eternity is more enduring
than time ; and our future being, for all these reasons, of higher
importance than our present existence. To realize these truths,
according to their solemnity and importance, is in this respect to
have a sober mind. But to prefer this world to that which is to
come, and our present enjoyments to those which are future ; or
to esteem the sufferings of this life of more consequence than
those which lie beyond the grave ; is the strongest proof, which
can be given, of a mind unsound, possessing a perverted judg-
ment, deciding without evidence or in opposition to it, and bewil-
dered by false lights, and a diseased vision.
The performance of our duty is the true preparation for eter-
nal life, and the indispensable means of obtaining it. Its value
therefore to us, is the same, as that of the life itself. Yet ho\y
many of those, who are before me, in all probability prefer to the
performance of their own duty what they, and others like them,
call pleasure : a thing, which hitherto, instead of doing them real
good, has only done them harm : a poison, swallowed because it
has been sugared. How unsound, how remote from sobriety,
will this preference seem, when we enter the world of spirits.
2. Sobriety of mind includes an exact, and habitual control of
our affections ; particularly of those, which are customarily de-
nominated passions, and appetites.
All persons, who have arrived at adult years, and have obser-
ved the characters of men with any attention, have seen, and of-
ten with astonishment, different individuals, judging not only dif-
ferently from each other, but in modes directly opposite ; where
the subjects, and the evidence, were exactly the same, and equal-
ly in the possession of all. This diversity cannot be the result
of mere understanding. Among the proofs, which are abundant-
24 THE YOUNG EXHORTED [SER. It
ly furnished of this truth, a decisive one is, that, where we have
exactly the same means of judging, and are entirely uninterested,
or have exactly the same interest, we judge in the same manner.
The cases, in which we judge differently, (the same evidence be--
ing in our possession,) are those, in which we are interested to
judge differently. Our passions and appetites in such cases in-
fluence, and often absolutely control, our judgment. This influ-
ence is the great evil, under which we labour in all those intellec-
tual decisions, which respect subjects, of any serious importance
to what we think our own good. We judge in modes, directly
opposite to each other ; with slender evidence, with no evidence;
and in direct opposition to all evidence. Of this truth he, who
looks even with slight attention at the political and religious di-
visions of mankind, existing every where, and in every age, will
ask for no additional proof. All doctrines have had their parti-
zans ; and the worst doctrines, and the grossest absurdities, have
had more numerous supporters than truth and righteousness
could ever boast. Mankind have arrayed themselves in great
numbers, not only on the side of the calves in Bethel and Dan^
and the bull of Egypt, but of cats also, and frogs, and flies,
blocks of wood, and images of stone. They have worshipped
Moloch, and Juggernaut ; the worst of men ; and even demons.
The most abandoned profligates of the human race have mul-
tiplied their trains of devotees. Crowds have attached them-
selves to Jeroboam, Nero, Charles the second, and Napoleon.
More than three fourths of the human race are now, and ever
have been, either Heathen, or Mahommedans. A few of the
leaders, in each case, have probably seen the absurdity of the
opinions, adopted by the train of their followers. The great
mass, and among them many persons of understanding, have
judged, as well as acted in accordance with their professed opin-
ions. But no errors can be more monstrous, or more mischievous,
than these. Passion and appetite, therefore, influence men to
judge, and conclude, and that every where, in favour of the
worst of errors.
SER. II.] TO SOBRIETY OF MIND. 25
All our passions and appetites have this influence : pride, vani-
ty, ambition, avarice, voluptuousness, prodigality, sloth together
with those, which are appropriately called affections of the mind,
such as love and hatred, hope and fear, joy and sorrow. These
causes of our unhappy judgments are very numerous and power-
ful ; are always at hand ; and exert their efficacy with respect to
every subject, in which we are interested.
That this efficacy is most malignant^ with regard to our real
interests^ is sufficiently evident from what has been already said.
If it can persuade mankind, that calves and carts, frogs and flies,
stocks and demons, are gods ; if it can persuade men to sacrifice
their fellow men, parents their children, and husbands their wives,
to their deities ; if it can induce them to renounce all connexion
with their Maker, and all hope of his favour ; there is no absur-
dity, which it cannot persuade them to receive ; no crime, which
it cannot induce them to perpetrate. From reasonable beings
it can convert them into lunatics and fiends.
By this time my audience are probably convinced, that passion
and appetite exert a real, extensive, powerful, dangerous, and
malignant domination over our judgment. The consequence
follows irresistibly. If we would escape from all these mischiefs ;
we must establish an exact, and habitual control over our pas-
sions and appetites. So long as they govern our judgments, we
shall regularly judge falsely, and be led to the commission of in-
numerable sins. In this case we shall have no soundness of
mind. Our understandings will be disordered, as well as our dis-
positions ; our opinions will be false ; our affections polluted ;
and our conduct odious in the sight of God. In a word, all
these things, will be, as we actually find them. Our judgments
will be false, our opinions absurd, and our actions criminal, just
as we see those of others, and just as ours have been heretofore.
3. Sobriety of mind includes, or perhaps more properly infers,
that Conduct which springs of course from the character, already
described.
Whatever we highly value, when it is within our reach, we dil-
igently pursue. Useful business^ and real religion, are always
26 THE YOUNG EXHORTED [SER. II
within oui- reach, in such a sense that they may be hopefully pur-
sued. Every man of this character will be regularly found ac-
ting diligently in useful business. To religion he will give the
place, and importance in his pursuits, which it holds in his judg-
ment. He, who possesses sobriety of mind in such a manner, as
it can be possessed by one, who is not a Christian, will be awake,
and aiive, to the attainment of Christianity. To all the means
of instruction, and impression, which he thinks will enlighten his
understanding, or affect his heart, he will betake himself with
anxiety, dihgence and perseverance. If the subject of this
character be already a Christian ; he will labour with all earn-
estness to make his calling and election sure. His efforts no
length of time will lessen, no arguments delay, no difficulties
discourage, and no obstacles overcome. His face will be set
as a flint, in the pursuit of this great object ; and when death
arrives, he will be found vigorously engaged in the solemn em-
ployment.
This, if I mistake not, is peculiarly the character, here inten-
ded by St. Paul ; as being the end for which sobriety of mind
is chiefly valuable. In whatever form it exists, it is no other
than such a temperament of the soul, as leads us to regard the
various things, with which we are conversant, agreeably to
their importance ; and to act accordingly : a temperament, re-
sulting more from the disposition than from the understanding:
and existing therefore as perfectly, and as often, where the intel-
lect is hmited, as where it is great. The man, in whom it exists,
gives the business of life, as I have observed, a higher place in
his estimation than its amusements ; and the great interests of
mankind, than their ordinary ones ; those of the soul, than those
of the body ; and those of the future, than those of the present
world. This regard is not mere, cold, uninterested speculations ;
but a combination of thought and reflection, influencing the
heart and the life. The sober minded man does not think, and
reason, pnly ; but feels also, and acts ; as the comparative impor-
tance of the objects with which he is concerned, demands.
SER. II.] TO SOBRIETY OF MIND. 27
As the soul is infinitely more valuable than the body ; as eter-
nity is immeasurably more important than time ; the sober min-
ded man will bend all his attention to the concerns of the soul,
and all his efforts to the attainment of a happy eternity. Noth-
ing will stand between him and the exertions, necessary to se-
cure an interest in the everlasting love of God.
In this amazing pursuit Sobriety of mind is peculiarly mani-
fested. Useful and commendable in all cases, it is here pecuUar-
ly useful and honourable.
The man, who possesses this character in the happy and
Evangelical degree, here specified, will never be contented to
stop short of the highest attainments, and the richest consola-
tions, which can be acquired by a life of piety. Originally, when
he betook himself to a just and solemn consideration of the
things^ which belonged to his peace^ he discovered a rational,
stedfast concern for his salvation ; a realizing sense of his guilt,
and danger ; a high value for an interest in the Saviour ; a su-
preme regard to the favour of God ; an earnest desire to flee
from the wrath to come ; and a settled determination to lay hold
on etertial life. All these things appeared in him, not as the im-
pulse of sudden passions, but as the steady, vigorous energy of
the mind ; directed in this manner, from solid conviction, that
thus to act was wise, and right. Accordingly, he did not, like a
false blossom, make a fair show for a few days in the spring, and
then fall, and wither, without yielding any fruit. Far from this,
he appeared more and more beautiful, and promising, until the
fruits of righteousness succeeded, and clustered, in abundance.
After his entrance into the kingdom of God, such a man keeps
the great subjects of resisting temptation, avoiding sin, and ad-
vancing in holiness, ever in view. In the pursuit of them he
neglects no means, and spares no endeavours. In his closet, at
his bible, in the house of God, in the company of the wise and
good, in his solitary walks, and even in the crowded haunts of
business, he labours faithfully, and diligently, to groiv hi wisdom
and in grace, and to advance daily towards the heavenly world,
and the heavenly character. Pveliglon, with him, does not pro-
28 THE YOUNG EXHORTED [SER. II.
ceed by fits and starts ; now bursting with the violence of a tor-
rent, and now stagnant with the sluggishness of a pool ; at
sometimes full of earnestness and zeal, and at others absorbed,
and lifeless, in the concerns of time and sense. It is a flame,
kindled, to burn steadily ; to shine always ; to grow brighter,
the longer it continues ; until it shall apparently expire in death,
to be lighted up again with superior and immortal splendour. I
do not mean, that all Christians are alike possessed of this uni-
form, and evenly improving, character ; nor that unequal profes-
sors, whose passions are suddenly heated, and cooled, are not
often Christians ; nor that the most uniform Christians do not, at
times shine feebly, and obscurely. What I intend is, that the
sobriety of mind, enjoined in the text, is in its nature such, as I
have represented ; and that those, in whom it most prevails, ex-
hibit most a fair resemblance to this representation. I will now
proceed,
II. To suggest several Reasons for the adoption of this char-
acter by the Youths, who are now before me.
In the 1st place. Owe of these Reasons, of vast importance
is ; their situation demands it.
The youths, before me, have entered upon the beginning of
eternal existence ; and will be holy or sinful, happy or miserable,
forever. Each has a soul, committed to his own peculiar care.
The value of that soul is inconceivable. It is infinite. The
world, nay the universe, weighed against it, is nothing. To
each, also, it is his all. It claims therefore, it deserves, all your
attention, all your labours, all your prayers. If it is lost ; you
are undone forever. If it is saved ; you are made rich, hap-
py, and glorious, throughout ages which will know no end.
What situation can be more solemn than this ; or can more im-
periously demand the combined exertion of all your powers ?
At the same time your earthly concerns are not to be forgot-
ten. They, too, have their importance. To neglect them is
neither your interest, nor your duty. Happily for you, the at-
tention, which they really demand, is in no degree inconsistent
with the effectual promotion of your eternal welfare. The same
SsER. II.] TO SOBRIETY OF MIND. 09
sobriety of mind, which is so useful to the advancement of your
heavenly interests, is the direct means of your earthly prosperity.
To the acquisition of knowledge, property, reputation, and influ-
ence, it is as auspicious as to your holiness, and happiness, be-
yond the grave.
2. Without Sobriety of mind, your Interests of both time and
eternity, will be neglected and lost.
Levity of disposition is the certain road to poverty, trouble,
and disgrace. He, who makes amusement his business, will be-
come a beggar of course ; and be compelled to creep through
life in want, insignificance, and contempt. It is impossible, that
he should acquire reputation, or be useful to mankind, or even
to himself If property be thrown into his hands by his parents,
or by the events of Providence, it will be squandered by him ; if
not, it will never be acquired. Steadiness of thought, and con-
stancy of exertion, are indispensable to the acquisition, and still
more to the preservation, of wealth; and, equally to the attain-
ment of all other earthly good. " Seest thou a man diligent in
his business .^" said the most exact observer of human hfe, whom
the world has ever seen, " he shall stmd before kings : he shall
not stand before mean men.''''
To your immortal concerns these observations are applicable
with equal force. To the very nature of these concerns light-
ness of mind is a direct, and unchanging enemy. He, who will
not be serious, will never be virtuous. Every thing, relating to
your eternal interests, is in the highest degree solemn, nay aw-
ful, and amazing. Heaven and hell, the great Being, who made
us, provoked by our sins, and denouncing against us the ven-
geance of eternal fire ; the glorious Redeemer of mankind, de-
scending with infinite love, to die for us ; our own character, as
fallen, condemned creatures, who are yet invited to return to
God, and obtain an inheritance in his everlasting love ; are sub-
jects, solemn and impressive beyond expression. They repel all
inconsideration ; claim irresistibly the deepest concern ; and de»
mand the most ardent pursuit. To a light minded man they say
Vol. H. 5
3Q THE YOUNG EXHORTED [SER. II.
at a great distance, and with awful authority, " Hitherto shalt
thou come, but no further.''''
3. The present is the best Time to secure this disposition ; es-
pecially, as it respects your immortal interests.
You are now disinclined to pay any serious attention to your
eternal well being. Every day you live, you will be more disin-
clined. The difficulties in your way to salvation are now such,
as prevent you from begining this mighty work. Every future
day, they will be greater. Now the subject is unwelcome to you,
to morrow it will be disgusting.
Look back upon your past lives. Has religion become more
agreeable to you by the flight of time ? Has the past year render-
ed it more pleasing ? Are you more sober minded ? Is the char-
acter of God more interesting to you ? Is Christ more desirable ?
Do you regard your souls with more affection ? Are you more
willing to ask for blessings ? Are you more constant, or more
fervent, in your prayers ? Does the eye of God see, does his ear
hear, proofs of any such reformation ? Does he not, on the con-
trary, behold you still seriously engaged about nothing, but pleas-
ure ; and still trifling away your day of probation ?
But, if during the year past, you have not advanced a single
step towards heaven, is it not plain, that, so long as your present
disposition continues, you will never advance a single step ? Do
not you yourselves believe, that your character must be changed ;
that your lightness of mind must give place to the sobriety, en-
joined in the text ; that you must no longer be fascinated by
amusements ; that you must turn your eyes, and summon your
affections, to the interests of the soul ; must weigh time against
eternity, and earth against heaven and hell ? All the aged, and
middle aged, around you were once young, as you now are.
They were as hopeful ; and gave as fair a promise of future good.
Every advantage, which you possess, they enjoyed : and God
encircled them with privileges, and blessings. But how many,
whom }ou know, have neglected all their privileges, and but too
probably lost them forever ? How many have become fixed in
evil habits, and evil pursuits ; and have yielded themselves finally
SER. II.] TO SOBRIETY OP MIND. 31
up to sense, to the world and to perdition ? Of how many it has
become difficult for you to entertain a feeble hope, that they will
not ultimately perish ! Have you not often found a reluctance
to think on this subject with attention, and to inquire what would
become of them in the end ? Have you not, in spite of all your
wishes, been forced, at times, to conclude, that there was not
even a doubtful prospect of their becoming better, or being hap-
py beyond the grave ?
Shall, then, this melancholy case be your own ? Can you wil-
lingly take this character ; and terminate life with these pros-
pects ? Would you be willing to enter eternity, as you now are 1
Does your present conduct furnish any reason to believe, that you
will enter it with a better character, or with better hopes ?
Youth is an invaluable season. The heart is then compara-
tively tender, and the soul open to instruction. All interesting
things easily make deep impressions on the thoughts. God may
then be regarded as being peculiarly reconcileable. The great
body of those, who are saved, are apparently turned to righteous-
ness in this happy period. Were it not, that the young are so
prone to levity of thought, and so enchanted with pleasure ; this
season would be still more hopeful. Sobriety of mind would in
all probability save many a youth from destruction ; and mightily
enlarge the kingdom of heaven.
4. You ought immediately to assume this character, because
you have no security of years to come.
Within twelve months some of you may be in the grave.
Should God with an audible voice declare concerning one, op
another, of your number, that within this period he would be
summoned to the judgment ; what would be his emotions? What
would be his condition ? But if the same person goes on in his
present course, the only difference will be, that his condemnation
will be delayed a few short years ; and that this delay will make
him more guilty, and his perdition more dreadful.
Think then, I beseech you, with the deep anxiety, which the
case demands, of your present situation ; of your lightness of
mind ; of your miserable subjection to your passions and appe-
52 THE YOUNG EXHORTED [SER. II.
tites ; your sottish devotion to amusement and pleasure. What
is to be the end of this career ? Wili it prepare you for death ?
Will it enable you to leave the world with hope ; and to give up
your account with joy ? Will it become the foundation of your
acquittal in the judgment ; or open for you the gates of heaven ;
or fit you for the blessings of immortality ? How deplorable will
it be to die at the end of such a life ! How dreadful, to recite be-
fore your Judge an account, made up of amusements ! How
melancholy, to remember in the future world, that for amusements
the soul was lost forever !
He, who must die, ought certainly to be always ready for death.
As he cannot foresee the hour, in which he must leave the world,
common prudence, as well as the command of God, requires him
to be prepared for this event at every hour. " Am I ready ?" is a
question, which you are bound to ask, every day you live. Are
your sins forgiven ? Have you besought the Lord with strong cry-
ing, and many tears, to forgive them, and to save you from end-
less woe ? Are you penitent, believing and prayerful ? Have you
chosen God as your God ; Christ as your Saviour ; and the Spirit
of truth as your Sanctifier ? Have you confessed Christ before
men? Or, if not, are you now prepared to make this confession?
Or, on the contrary, are you still sinners ; strangers to the cov-
enant of promise ; without God, and therefore ivithout hope in
the world. ^ Are you prayerless ; thankless; impenitent; unbe-
lieving ; possessed of hard hearts and blind minds ? Is the world
your God ; your portion ; your all ? Is it true, that you have
never even asked God to save you ; and that heaven has never
known a single petition from your lips enter its delightful walls
for your eternal life ?
When the great curtain, which hides the invisible world from
your sight, shall be drawn, will you behold, unveiled to your eyes,
the gates of glory, opening to receive you ; a smiling Judge,
ready to acquit you; and the spirits of, just men, made perfect^
waiting to hail your arrival ? Or will you meet an angry Judge ;
a dreadful condemnation ; a world of sorrow ; and a host of mis-
erable companions, hailing your approach to their own melan-
choly doom ?
SER. II.] TO SOBRIETY OF MIND. 33
Look forward to the events of a year to come ; and tell me
what emotions it must excite in your minds to remember at the
close of it, that during this period you began to renounce your
sins ; to trust in your R.edeemer ; to obey your God ; and to com-
mence your journey tovvrads the regions of immortal life ? What
transports would spring up in the hearts of your parents, to know
that all their fears, and all your dangers, were terminated, be-
cause you had chosen the one thing needful, the good part, which
ivill never be taken from you? How delightful would it then be
to find your conflict ended, and your victory v^^on ; to see your-
selves fairly entered into the straight and narrow way ; and noth-
ing remaining, but to continue your progress ? Think what it
must be to possess the hope, and joy, of sanctified minds ; to be-
come children of God, and followers of the Redeemer ; to make
all virtuous beings your friends ; and to commence the divine ca-
reer of glorifying your Creator, and doing good to the universe,
throughout an interminable existence ? What a period would
such a year be ! How long to be remembered on earth ! How
rapturously to be celebrated in the ages of heaven !
To encourage yourselves in this noble and evangelical pursuit,
call to mind that God, to you, is now a God at hand, and not a
God afar off. Behold his hand is not shortened that it cannot
save ; nor is his ear heavy that it cannot hear. He is now ready
to receive, and welcome, you to his kingdom, his forgiveness, and
his everlasting love. " Come unto we," says the merciful Saviour
of mankind, '■'■all ye that labour, and are heavy laden ; and I will
give you rest. Take my yoke upon you ; and learn of me : for I
am meek, and lowly of heart : and ye shall find rest to your
soids : for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.''''
On the other hand, how distressing will it be, if a season so
inviting, so plainly the best which you will ever enjoy, should roll
on all its days, and weeks, and months, in vain. How distress-
ing, that fifty two sabbaths should shine with their benevolent
beams upon your heads, and illumine your paths to the house of
God, only to increase your condemnation ? How painful is the
reflection, that all these golden days will be lost ! that they will
34 THE YOUNG EXHORTED, &c, [SER. 11,
be wasted in gratifying passions which warp, and in pursuing
pleasures which steal, your affections from God. How melan-
choly is the thought, that the last of these sabbaths may find you
in the grave ; the house of God see your seat empty, to be filled
by you no more ; and those, whom you leave behind, follow
your departed spirits with fears, and sighs, and sorrows, and
mourn over your unhappy end without consolation and without
hope. Oh that ye were ivise ! that ye understood these things f
that ye woidd consider your latter end !
SERMON III.
THE DANGER OF LOSING CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE.
Matthew xii. 43 — 45.
When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walketh through
dry places, seeking rest, andfindeth none.
Then he saith, '■'■ I will return into my house, from whence I
came out,'''' and when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and
garnished.
Then goeth he, and taketh with himself seven other spirits^
more wicked than himself ; and they enter in and dwell there :
and the last state of that man is ivorse than the first. Even so
.'■hall it be, also, unto this wicked generation.
These words are a part of a discourse, addressed by Christ
to certain of the Scribes and Pharisees. In consequence of the
pungent sermon which he had uttered, after they had charged
him with casting out demons by Beelzebub, the prince of the
demons, they demanded of him a sign from heaven : i. e. a proof
of his Messiahship. Their application for this sign seems to
have been made, partly with a design of putting a stop to the
distressing reproofs of Christ, and partly with the hope of con-
founding him by disproving his pretensions. In his reply, Christ
refuses them any other sign, beside that of Jonas, the prophet ;
whose temporary burial in the fish strongly typified that of Christ
in the earth. Then, resuming the same forcible strain of rebuke,
he uttered several very solemn and awful threatenings, and con-
cluded his remarks with the text. A more dreadful picture of
the guilt and danger of these men, and of all who are like them,
was never drawn.
36 THE DANGER OF LOSING [SER. III.
Tliis passage of Scripture is apparently a parable. It may be
a literal representation of facts. But there is nothing in the
phraseology, which requires us to understand it in this sense.
Whether considered as a simple, or symbolical, representation, it
conveys to us, in substance, the same truths. Our sole concern
lies with the things, which the Saviour designed to communicate,
whether the facts or the persons were real or parabolical, is to us
of no importance.
There is scarcely a more extraordinary paragraph in the Scrip-
tures than this. Interpreters have extensively, and as I believe
justly, considered it as a representation of the state of a sinner, in
some degree affected with a sense of his guilt, forming resolutions
of amendment, and making some attempts towards Evangelical
reformation; but finally relinquishing them all, and returning
again, like the dog to his vomit, and like the sow, that ivas ivash-
ed, to her wallowing in the mire. Our Saviour subjoins, " ^S^o
shall it be, also, unto this wicked generation.''''
Plainly, therefore, this parable is a description of the moral
state of the Jews, to a considerable extent, at the time when it
was spoken. In every age, and every country, where the Scrip-
tures are known, there are persons, whose moral condition is the
same with that of these Jeivs ; persons of a hard heart, and a
guilty life ; who yet feel at times, and in some degree, their guilt
and their danger. These persons usually form some designs,
and even some resolutions, to repent. In many instances, how-
ever, they return to their former, sinful life with new, more guilty,
and more hopeless dispositions. Of all such persons this parable
is no less a just description, than of those Jews, whom they so
strongly resemble. To these (for it is behoved, that some of
them may be found in this assembly) it is now solemnly addressed.
It is hardly necessary to say, that the representation is forcible
and affecting, beyond example ; and demands, not merely the
solemn and profound, but the alarmed and eager attention of all
men; especially of those, who either are, or are in danger of
being in the situation, here described. I think of no method, in
which I may unfold, or impress, the things, contained in it, more
SER. III.] CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 37
clearly and more effectually, than by following the order of the
parable itself, and marking, as I pass, such particulars, as are of
peculiar importance to the general design. This course I shall
therefore pursue. I shall consider then,
1. The miserable condition of an impenitent sinner, before he
is awakened to a serious conviction of his guilt.
" When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man'''' — From this
clause we learn, that, to the eye of God, the soul of such a man
is the habitation of a foul and wicked spirit, w ho there fixes his
abode. Nay he appropriates this abode to himself as his own
property. Then he saith " / will return to my house from ivhence
I came out ,•" " my house ;" language, plainly adopted because
he regards it as his settled proper residence ; the dwelling, where
he steadily lives, and is literally at home.
Think, I beseech you, of the import of these extraordinary
words. What would be the condition of the poor wretch, of
whom a fiend from the bottomless pit should take entire posses-
sion; so as to render the soul of the man his property, his house,
the place where he always dwelt, and where he had an undispu-
ted control. Think what an inhabitant is here pourtrayed. Of
what an inmate has such a soul become the tenement ? What
employments must such a being pursue in its secret chambers ?
How plainly must it be his prime business to seduce, to corrupt,
and to destroy ; to rouse its evil passions and evil appetites, and
to goad it into opposition to truth and righteousness. Against
man it must be his delight to inspire it with injustice, fraud, and
revenge ; against God to arm it with impiety, unbelief, ingrat-
itude and rebellion ; and against itself to direct its hostility in
all the snaky paths of pollution. These must be the peculiar
and incessant employments of such an impure and malignant be-
ing. Of these employments what is the end. It is no other
than to withdraw it from truth, duty, religion, hope and heaven ;
and to hurry it onward to perdition.
What in this case must be the character of the soul itself? The
whole influence of such a spirit mu.<t arise from the fact, that the
soul, which he inhabits, voluntarily yields to his suggestions. H»
Vol. II. 6
38 THE DANGER OF LOSING [SER. IIL
resides there, only because he is a welcome guest. He works
there, only because the man loves to have it so. He prevails, be-
cause the man chooses to submit. He rules, because the man
is pleased to be under his dominion. He corrupts and destroys,
because the man loves to be corrupted and destroyed. " Whoso
sinneth against me wrongeth his own soul; all thet/, that hate me,
love death.''''
But such, in substance, is the real state of the man in question.
There may, indeed, be no such spirit, no impure, foreign being,
residing, controlling, and triumphing. Still the affections, the
purposes and the character, are such, as to be justly described
by this strong symbolical language. The soul is such, as if in-
habited and corrupted by this destroyer. How dangerous, how
miserable, a condition is that of a stupid, hardened sinner, sold
to sin, and devoted by himself to destruction ?
It is not improbable, that there are many persons present, who
will hardly be induced to believe this representation. Let me
request every one of them to remember, that these things are
all said by the Saviour of men, the final Judge of the quick and
the dead ; that it is declared of him by the voice of inspiration,
that he knoivs what is in man ; that he declares of himself, that
he searches the hearts, and the reins: and that on this knowledge
will be founded his final sentence concerning every child oi Adam
at the great day. Let it also be remembered, that he can no
more deceive, than be deceived ; and that these are his words.
Must not every sinner in this house, who has sufficient sobriety
to make an application of them to his own case, and to learn
his real situation, tremble at these awful declarations of Christ,
and shudder to think what he himself is.
2. Convictions of sin constitute in the eye of God an impor-
tant change in the state of man.
" When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man'''*
The change, of which I have spoken, is so great, as to be justly
represented by this imagery. Before, the unclean spirit dwelt in
the soul without disturbance. Now, he finds himself so strenu-
ously resisted, that, in despair of future success, he quits a habita-
>ER. III.] CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 39
tion which has become so uncomfortable, because it promises so
little opportunity of doing mischief. Of course he hastens to
some other place, where the same dreadful employment may be
more hopefully pursued. " The Jiend,^'' in the language of the
great English Poet, " The fend murmuring flies ; and with him
fly the shades of night :" of that deep and dreadful night, which
he himself shed over the world within. In a sense, the man has
once more become his own ; and is partially delivered from the
deplorable thraldom under which he had so long laboured.
Certainly rtiis is a great and desirable change. The subtlety,
malice, and domination, of a fiend, of passions and appetites
strongly resembling the character of a fiend, have in some good
measure been overcome. The captive is in a good degree at lib-
erty to understand, and pursue, his own salvation. Many of his
incumbrances are shaken off; many of his discouragements re-
moved. The victory, indeed, is not of course final. Yet it is a
victory of vast importance ; and is often followed if perseveringly
pursued, perhaps always, by consequences interesting beyond
conception. How fervently, then, ought every person in this situa-
tion to labour, that he may secure all which he has gained, and
take advantage of his present, commanding ground to acquire all
which remains. How diligently ought every such person to watch
against every danger, the approach of every temptation, the as-
saults of every enemy, and especially the dreadful possession from
which he has just escaped ? How ardently ought he to strive
against the returns of stupidity, backsliding, and corruption?
How fervently to pray, that God woul/d enable him to persevere,
advance, overcome every obstacle, and finally win the prize of
immortal life. If such persons forsake themselves ; God will for-
sake them. If they forget their souls ; they ought to expect that
they will be forgotten by their Maker. If they despise their own
eternal well-being ; they cannot hope to escape from the ruin,
which is before them.
3. We are here taught^ that beings absolutely sinful find nei-
ther rest^ nor enjoyment, but in doing evil.
" He walketh through dry i. e. desert places^ seeking rest and
findeth noney
40 THE DANGER OF LOSING [SER. Ill,
While the unclean spirit resided in his former dwelling, he was
in a sense settled in ease and quiet ; because he was corrupting
and destroying the man. The business of corrupting and des-
troying was all, in which he found any ease. The moment his
hopes of success in this diabolical business began to fail, he quit-
ted his mansion ; and wandered into a desert. Here he roamed
alone, restless and wretched ; and peculiarly wretched because
he could no longer successfully pursue the work of destruction.
Wickedness is a spirit ahsolutely solitary. All its social char-
acter, all its sympathy, is nothing, but the disposition which
unites banditti in the fell purpose of plundering, pollution, and
murder. With others it joins, solely because it cannot accom-
plish its foul ends alone. Even with these it has no union of
heart, no fellow feeling, no real sociahty. It attracts nothing,
and nobody. Every thing it repels. Hell, with all its millions,
is a perfect solitude to each of its inhabitants. They unite only
to destroy each other, or to accomplish elsewhere the same work
of ruin. Not one of them can find a single friend in all the vast
multitude around him. Nay, this immense multitude serves only
to make him feel, that he is more entirely alone; more perfectly
friendless; more absolutely destitute of confidence, affection, and
hope. Such is the true nature of sin, or selfishness, in every hu-
man breast : and, although its tendencies are strongly resisted
by natural affection in the present world, it bursts, in innumera-
ble instances, this bond ; and discovers its fiend-like character in
the terrible crimes to which it goads our miserable race. Intense
ambition, avarice, and voluptuousness, rage, even here, without
control ; and diffuse around them misery, not a httle resembling
that of the damned. What an endless multitude have they sac-
rificed with the sword. What a multitude of victims have they
brought to the cross and to the stake. What is this, but the tem-
per and the conduct of liell ?
Even when this spirit appears in a milder form, and assumes no
violence, nor any apparent malice ; still, both its character, and
its employments, are substantially the same. To corrupt is to
destroy. The process is indeed slower ; but it lis equally sure.
SER. III.] CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 41
The aspect, exhibited by the spirit of corruption, is indeed less
forbidding : but the mischiefs, which it does, are not in the end
less dreadful. Every seducer, every tempter, is at the bottom an
enemy, and a villain : and nothing can be more false than the pro-
fessions, made by men of this character.
4. Persons., under conviction^ are always in danger of falling
anew into hardness of heart.
" He saith ' / will return into my house., from whence I came
out.:''
At first, and for a time, he despaired of gaining a final victory
over the man whose soul he inhabited ; and in this despair, leav-
ing him to himself, wandered into the desert. But, after looking
in vain for a new victim, he began to indulge fresh hopes of re-oc-
cupying his former residence. Accordingly he determined to re-
turn and make it his permanent abode.
The first victory, which is gained when the soul becomes con-
vinced of its sins, is far from being final. It is a happy begin-
ning ; and if followed by vigorous and unremitted efforts, is a
propitious prelude to future success. But he who rests here, and
feels as if he had already attained, or were already safe, is ruined '
of course. He is become convinced of his guilt, and has thus
advanced a necessary step towards eternal life. But he has not
turned to God ; and without this conversion all, which is done,
will be nothing.
Probably every person, who is under a strong conviction of
his guilt, is assailed by many temptations. Either he will distrust,
and despair of, the divine mercy ; or he will be induced to trust
presumptuously in his own righteousness, or to feel satisfied of his
ability to save liimself ; or he will settle down in a state of sloth :
or he will be persuaded to procrastinate the work of repentance ;
or he will yield himself up to the guidance of erroneous teachers,
or search out for himself erroneous doctrines ; or he will depend
on impulses, and other vain dictates of a wild imagination. In
these circumstances some individuals strenuously resist both the
allurements and the terrors. Others become victims to them.
The former overcome ; the latter fall and often irrevocably.
42 THE DANGER OF LOSING [SER. III.
Of the truth of the observations which I have h^re made, the
conversation of persons in a state of conviction furnishes evi-
dence but too decisive. A minister of the Gospel is by his oflice
made a witness, to a great extent, of the secret feehngs of the
heart in persons thus situated. The very things, which have been
here mentioned, I have myself heard in such conversation ; and
have seen the subsequent conduct. Without hesitation, there-
fore, I pronounce the observations to be true.
How important, then, is it, that every individual in such a state
should be aware of his danger ; watch incessantly against his ene-
mies ; and resist them without intermission. How indispensable
is it, that he should pray always with all prayer for the grace of
God, to save him from temptation, and rescue him from utter
ruin. Let every such person, present, be awake, alive, and
alarmed by a sense of his exposure, and tremble at the thought
of being overcome by his destroyers.
5. The soul, from which convictions of sin have been finally
banished, is more perfectly prepared to become the seat of abso-
lute wickedness, than before these convictions began.
'■'■And, when he is come, he findeth it empty, swept, and gar-
nished.'^''
An empty house is vacant for the reception of a new inhabit-
ant. A house, swept, is rendered clccin, to make his residence
agreeable. A house, garnished, is with pleasure prepared to
welcome such an inhabitant ; and designed to exhibit the res-
pect with which the original tenant regards his new guest, and
the open testimonies of honour which he is disposed to render to
him. It will be remembered, that all this preparation is volun-
tary on the part of the owner ; and is all designed for the con-
\'enience, and pleasure of the new occupant. It proves there-
fore, that such an occupant v/as expected, and intended to re-
side where all these preparations had been made.
Thus, after the conflict with sin, and the fears of danger, are
over, the soul becomes quieted of all its former apprehensions,
and inactive as to all future resistance. The work, though not
done, is ended ; and the struggles, though they have failed of
SEE. Ill] CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 4S
their purpose, are given over. The soul has ceased from its op-
position ; and, considering the eftbrt as too laborious, and the
self-denial as too great, relinquishes the conflict, with scarcely a
hope of resuming it at any future period. Satisfied, that with
ten thousand, it is unable to meet him, that cometh against it with
twenty thousand, it languishes au'ay its energy, and settles down
into a state of hopeless torpidity. It began to build, but was not
able to finish.
From this time it recedes visibly from the solemnity and con-
cern, which it before manifested about its sins and its salvation ;
and becomes gradually hardened in iniquity, and alienated from
God. Ordinarily, this progress is not without its interruptions ;
without checks of conscience ; without restraints of the Spirit of
Grace. With some irregularities it is, however, continual. It is
too constant, too rapid, and too hopeless ; and but too often does
the man conclude to make no further efforts, and to bid adieu to
every prospect of eternal life.
6. The soul, from which convictions are finally banished^ he-
comes far more sinful, than before its convictions began.
" Then goeth he, and talceth with himself seven other spirits
more wicked than himself, and they enter in, and. dwell there :
and the last state of that man is worse than the first.''''
Seven is here hut for an indefinite number^ and may be con^
sidered as standing for maiiy. It was, also, regarded by the
Jews as a perfect number ; and may therefore denote, in the
present case, the worst; or the number, the most fitted to com-
plete the wickedness and ruin of the man. At the least, it de-
notes a greater number than one ; and, in proportion, a greater
series of temptations and dangers. These seven, are also, uni-
versally more wicked than the original tenant of this impure hab-
itation ; more absolutely possessed of the fiend-like character,
than himself. From each his danger is of course greater : from
all, how great, how dreadful ! What a house has this become !
With what inhabitants is it filled ! To what purposes is it destined !
In what uses is it employed ! Such, however, is the real state of
the man in question.
44 THE DANGER OF LOSING [SER. Ill,
The soul, in this case, has overcome with many struggles, and
against many motives, its strong sense of guilt, and its distressing
apprehensions of danger. In this conflict the man has hardened
his heart, and bhnded his eyes. He has been exposed, per-
haps, to the ridicule of his companions, to the deceitfulness of
their sophistry, and to the baleful influence of their example.
The calm, contemplative, safe, fireside he has left for the haunts
of sense and sin ; his sober, virtuous friends for the company of
seducers ; and the instructions of piety for the snares of pleas-
ure. From the remonstrances of conscience he has retreated
to the noise and gaiety of hcentious sport ; from the house of
God to the theatre and the gaming table ; and from the path
of life to the broad and crooked road, which leads him to destruc-
tion. The fears and distresses, which a little while since compel-
led him to solemn thought, and temporary external reformation,
he forces away by joining with others in their contempt and
derision.
Of the praise, or approbation, of God he now becomes re-
gardless ; but of that of his companions in iniquity he is more
and more ambitious. A little while since, their commendation
would have awakened in his mind nothing but alarm. Now he
dreads nothing so much as their censure. They are at once, his
instructors, his rulers, and his example. Once he hoped, that he
should resemble the Redeemer ; have the same mind, which was
in him, and walk as he ivalked. Now his sole wish is to be like
tJiem. Henceforth his progress is only downward ! From the
commission of one sin he is of course led to another ; and from
those, which are less, to those, which are greater. If life lasts,
he becomes in the end a profligate here, and an heir of distin-
guished wretchedness beyond the grave. If he does not go to
the most horrid and abandoned lengths ; it is because God exer-
cises more kindness to him, than he to himself.
Often a person of this description becomes ambitious to be,
and to shew himself, the first in every proposal, device and ca-
reer of sin ; and in every band of sinners. In the indulgence
of this spirit he usually makes it his prime business to appear as
SER. III.] CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 45
an open opposer of religion, a despiser of good men, a reviler
of the Scriptures, a contemner of the Sabbath, a ridiculer of
the Sanctuary. Not unfrequently might he with justice be ad-
dressed, as Eh/mas, the sorcerer, was by St. Paul : " O full of
all siihtlety and all miscJdef ; thou child of the devil; thou enemy
of all righteousness ! wilt thou not cease to pervert the right ways
of the Lord .^" His station he vohnitarily takes in the front of
the host ; and ventures into the thickest of the battle. Too far,
therefore, does he advance, to think of retreating. His pride,
his self-consistency, make him regard this subject only with dis-
dain ; and push him on to every hostile effort against his Maker.
After some time spent in this manner, he learns habitually to feel,
as if embarked in a continual warfare, and as if always in arms.
Thus, instead of being influenced, deceived, and controlled,
by one fiend, he is spurred and goaded on by a band of fiends ;
is kept always vigorously active in iniquity, violently at war with
God, and in a steady direction of all his energy against truth
and salvation.
Last, and most dreadful of all, as he has finally resisted with
gross insult the most benevolent efforts of the Holy Spirit to win
him from guilt, to restore him to holiness, and to entitle him to
endless life ; as he has crucified afresh the Son of God, accoun-
ted the blood of the covenant, wherewith he was sanctified, an
unholy thing, and put him to open shame ; as he has despised
the riches of the goodness, forbearance, and long-suffering, of
God, and after his hardness, and impenitent heart has treasured
up wrath against the day of wrath ; he is forsaken by that Spi-
rit, to whom he has done this despite, forgotten by that Redee-
mer, whom he has thus requited, and given up by that Father
of all mercies, against whom he has thus finally rebelled, to a
reprobate mind. Henceforth he is only endured as a vessel of
wrath, fitted for destruction. At first a partial, then an open In-
fidel, exiled from the Sanctuary, scorning the Scriptures, and
making a mock of sin and holiness alike, it becomes impossible,
that he should be renewed to repentance. No more sacrifice for
sin remaineth for him; but a fearful looking for of judgment ,
Vol. H. 7
46 THE DANGER OF LOSING [SER. IIL
and fiery indignation. Accordingly, God sends upon him strong
delusion^ that he shoidd believe a lie^ and be damned, because he
believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness. The
Saviour only weeps over him, as over Jerusalem ; crying with a
tenderness inexpressible, " How often would I have gathered
thee, as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings ; but thou
wouldst not. Oh that thou hadst known, even thou, in this thy day,
the tilings, which belong to thy peace ! but now they are hidden
from thine eyes.'''' Woe unto thee, miserable apostate ; it shall
be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judg-
ment than for thee.
REMARKS.
From this passage of Scripture, thus explained, we learn,
1. The immeasurable importance of cherishing in the heart
Convictions of sin.
The state of mind, denoted by this phraseology, is, I acknowl-
edge, often wearisome and distressing. To have a realizing con-
sciousness of our guilt ; to have vivid apprehensions of the dan-
ger which it involves ; to look back on a life spent only in rebel-
lion against God, and forward, with a fearful expectation of suf-
fering the effects of his anger against impenitence : is unques-
tionably terrifying to an awakened mind ; and but for the aid
given us by the tender mercy of our Creator, would easily over-
whelm us with agony and despair. That we should earnestly
wish for deliverance from such a condition is inwoven in our na-
ture ; and that we should feel desirous of a deliverance from it
by almost any means, especially when labouring under peculiar
anguish, and still more especially when that anguish has been
long continued, may not unnaturally be expected from the frailty
and feebleness of our character. Hence multitudes have in all
ages of Christianity been found, who under the pressure of pain-
ful truths, and distressing apprehensions, have, like some of our
Saviour's hearers, turned back, and refused any more to walk tcith
Christ.
SER. III.] CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 47
In the text the danger of this conduct is exhibited in the most
terrible manner. Let me beseech you solemnly to ponder this
awful representation. Ponder it deeply. Ponder it often. Let
it lie near your hearts. Let it awaken all your fears.
You may possibly reply, that this is a figurative representation ;
a parable ; an allegory. Be it so. Construe it as favourably
for yourselves, as you can. Soften its terrible declarations as
much as you can. There w^ill still remain in it sufficient alarms
to make the ears of evert/ one of you, who is not deaf, to tingle y
and the heart of every one of you, who is not torpid, to shrink
with dismay.
From a state of conviction, however distressing it may seem,
there are but two ways of escape. One of them leads to endless
Kfe ; the other, to endless death. The former is the way of re-
pentance, faith and holiness ; the latter, that of stupidity, hard-
ness of heart, the resumption of sin, and the abandonment of
Religion. Of those, who terminate their convictions, how dif-
ferent is the disposition, the progress, and the end. Who would
not chuse the former ? Who would not tremble to assume the
latter ?
Cherish, then, if you possess them, these convictions, how-
ever painful they may seem, however long they may continue.
Keep your eyes open upon your guilt, upon your danger, and
upon the only way of escape from both. Search the Scriptures
diligently for those instructions and warnings, which on the one
hand will teach you your duty and your danger, and on the other
will keep your minds vigorously alive to the importance of both.
The threatenings, found in that sacred book, meet with awe and
apprehension : the invitations, and the promises, welcome with
gratitude, wonder, and delight. Mark the gracious terms, in
which they are given ; and adore the divine Spirit of condescen-
sion and mercy, by which they are dictated. Regard the distresses,
which you feel at this period, as a wise man regards the probe,
by which his wounds are searched and healed. To yourselves you
may seem as losing a right hand, or a right eye : but remember
that it is better to enter into life, maimed, than with two eyes, and
48 THE DANGER OF LOSING [SER. III-
two hands, to be cast into the f re of hell. Bow your knees daily
to the Father of all mercies, with the language and spirit of the
publican ; and cry, each of you, to him in anguish of heart,
"God be merciful ^mto me, a sinner.'''' Seize every opportunity
to converse with that frankness, which opens all the heart, with
good men ; whose affectionate instructions may enlighten, quick-
en, and strengthen you ; may give you consolation and hope ;
and persuade you to endure to the end.
2. We learn from these observations the high interest, which
persons in this situation have in being directed in their duty by
sound wisdom.
Such persons betake themselves, of course, to some or other of
those around them for instruction and comfort, especially, when,
as is often the case, they themselves are imperfectly acquainted
with subjects of this nature. Multitudes in such cases are, usual-
ly, willing enough to take into their hands the business of instruct-
ing them ; and not unfrequently volunteer their services. Let me
exhort you to remember, that many of these are totally unfit for
the office which they assume. If you commit yourselves to the
guidance of ignorant persons ; they will be unable to point out
to you your duty, or your safety: if to that of philosophical Chris-
tians; they will perplex you with distinctions, and refinements in
speculation, by which you will be only bewildered. If you fall
into the hands of bigotry ; you will be told, that your safety is
found alone in the adoption of those opinions, and those practi-
ces, about which this spirit is so unreasonably employed : opin-
ions and practices, usually wrong in their nature, and always in
the degree of importance attached to them. If you go to enthu-
siasts ; they will teach you, that Religion consists in fervours, in
impulses, in immediate revelations from Heaven : things unknown
to the Scriptures, and estranged from piety. They will also tell
you, that its existence is evidenced by the sudden arrival of Scrip-
tural texts to your minds, of which you had no expectation, and
for the coming of which you were absolutely unprepared ; by the
violence of your zeal ; by the abundance of your conversation
about religious subjects ; by high pretensions ; and by that spirit
SER. III.] CONVICTIONS OF CONSCIENCE. 49
of censoriousness, which denies the character of piety to sober
Christians. The superstitious man will inform you, that you must
tithe mint^ anise, and cummin ; and will be perfectly satisfied,
that you should neglect the iveightier matters of the law : judg-
ment, mercy, and faith. The frozen-hearted moralist will per-
suade you, that, if you speak truth, pay your debts, and occasion-
ally administer to the necessities of the poor, you will find your-
selves in the path to heaven ; and have nothing to fear from the
anger of God, although your hearts will still remain deceitfid
above all things, and desperately wicked. All these are blind
guides: and // the blind lead the blind, both, will fall into the
ditch.
In every case of this nature apply yourselves directly, and
only, to sober, enlightened, and pious men, whose lives prove
their piety, whose conversation carries irresistible evidence of
their wisdom. Especially betake yourselves to Ministers of the
Gospel, who clearly, and evangelically, sustain this character. If
you tvalk toith these men, you will become wise. They will shew
you the path of life : they will persuade you to enter it. Pour
forth to them all your hearts, your sins, your temptations, your
difficulties, your fears, and your hopes. The instructions, which
they will be able to give you will be safe, comforting, full of hope,
and full of peace. Their counsels will be a light to your feet,
and a balm to your wounds. They will take you by the hand,
lead you in the path of righteousness, and guide you towards
Heaven.
3. We also learn from this parable the miserable situation of
Uuawakened sinners.
These persons have not, indeed, incurred all the guilt, and all
the danger, of those, who have been the principal subjects of
this discourse. Still, their condition is, and is here exhibited as
being, deplorable. " When the unclean spirit is gone out of a
man,'''' says our Saviour. The departure of the unclean spirit, if
the commentators, to whom I have referred, have construed the
passage aright, is the era, at which convictions begin in the soul.
Of course, till this time he resided there in quiet. Think what
50 THE DANGER OF LOSING, inc. fSER. lU.
it is for the soul to be possessed by this foul and dreadful inhabit-
ant ; and remember, that the representation is that of Christ him-
self. It is therefore just. Sin is an unclean spirit, of sufficient
subtilty, foulness, power and malignity, to corrupt any mind be-
yond the hope of restoration. In the case supposed ; the case,
as there is but too much reason to fear, of not a small number in
this house; the excessive danger lies in this : every such person
is at ease concerning his moral condition.
This unclean spirit has acquired an entire ascendency over
him ; and dwells, and reigns, in his heart without a rival, and
without an attempt to resist his influence or to escape from his
dominion. All is quiet, and silent, within : but it is the stillness
of death, and the repose of the grave.
Be roused then, to a sense of your condition. Open your eyes
to your sins, your guilt, your approaching ruin. Feel, that you
are in greater danger, because you suppose yourselves safe.
Your insensibility is the torpor of the apoplexy. You sleep on
the top of a mast ; and the waves of perdition roll beneath you.
How can you hope to escape, if you will not so much as open
your eyes to see your danger? Remember how often the alarm
has been rung in your ears, and has left you as it found you, cry-
ing in half-articulated sounds " A little more sleep ; a little more
slumber j a lictle more folding of the hands to sleep.'''' You have
been tenants of the tomb ; and have slumbered over the pit of
"destruction. If you are not lifeless ; if you are not hopeless ;
listen. The voice of Inspiration calls to you ; " Awake, or sleep,
to wake no more."
SERMON IV.
THE FOLLY OF TRUSTING OUR OWN HEARTS.
Proverbs xxviii. 26,
jHe, that trusteth in his own heart, is a fool.
' In the examination, which I propose to make of this passage
of Scripture, I shall consider,
I. What is meant by trusting in our own hearts.
II. The folly of this conduct.
I. What is meant by trusting in our own hearts.
The heart is phraseology, often used in the Scriptures to de-
note all the powers of the soul; the imagination, the understanding,
and the affections. The propriety of using the word in this manner
is sufficiently evident from the consideration, that in most exer-
cises of the soul all these powers are unitedly employed. If ca-
ses exist, in which one of these powers is exercised without the
others ; they are certainly solitary cases. Usually, at leasts
they are exerted together ; and we imagine, reason, and feel, at
the same time. In this extensive sense the word appears to be
used in the text.
To trust in our hearts is obviously to be assured, or at least to
be confident, of the wisdom and rectitude, of the various plans
ivhich we devise for our conduct ; and to feel that their dictates
may be safely followed. Whatever may be the object in view ;
the man in the case supposed, commits himself and his interests
to the direction of his heart; and is satisfied, that it will conduct
him safely and successfully to that which is good. In the same
manner a dutiful child confidently commits himself and all his
concerns, to the parent whom he loves. The parent is to plan.
52 THE FOLLY OF TRUSTING [SER. IV
and to control, both his business and his pleasure. The child is
only to conform to what the parent prescribes. In the same
manner, also, a pious man confides in his Maker.
But, to understand this subject correctly, as well as compre-
hensively, it is necessary, thai we should examine it somewhat
more minutely, I observe therefore,
1 . That to trust in our own hearts is to rely on our wisdom and
prudence in the common concerns of life.
God has taught us, that in the multitude of counsellors there
is safety ; that, ivhere no counsel is, the people fall ; that with-
out counsel purposes are disappointed, and that by counsel every
purpose is established / that the way of a fool is right in his own
eyes ; and that he, who hearkeneth unto counsel, is wise.
But in defiance of all these declarations of the Infinite mind,
he, who trusteth in his own heart, feels, in the common concerns
of life, assured that he possesses sufficient wisdom to direct his
business, without any need of advice from others. Mark him
with a little attention ; and you will easily discern, that, in his
own view, his plans are laid with sufficient skill to furnish every
necessary promise of success. Persons of this character often
have friends, distinguished for knowledge, experience and wis-
dom ; friends, who, if applied to, would kindly and cheerfully
assist them with their best advice, and with the highest probabil-
ity direct them in the happiest way for the attainment of their
purposes. But, however young, inexperienced or ignorant, them-
selves are ; and however satisfied of the wisdom of their friends ;
they are often wholly indisposed to ask advice at their hands.
Nay the younger, the more inexperienced, the more ignorant,
they are, the less are they usually disposed either to ask or re-
ceive advice, and the more inclined to rely upon their own wis-
dom. Thus, we see, children in the early stages of childhood
hardly ever suspect, that they need any direction beside their
own. Youths begin to learn their incompetency to guide them-
selves. In manhood this persuasion very evidently increases in
strength ; and, in middle age, ordinarily prompts us to believe,
that by counsel every purpose is established. Thus, the more
SER. IV.] OUR OWN HEARTS. 53
able we become to direct ourselves, the more unwilling we are to
confide in this direction, and the more inclined to seek the aid
of others. Thus our self sufficiency declines, as our experience
and our consequent wisdom increase.
Those, who are young, almost always know better than their
parents how to avoid danger ; to preserve their health ; to di-
rect their own education ; and to pursue the best and safest road
to real happiness. They are more competent to choose for them-
selves a profession ; to form useful plans of business ; and to pur-
sue them with skill and success.
But this spirit is not found in the young only. The number is
not small of those, whom it accompanies through life ; and who
are, thus, children until they leave the world. However often
they are deceived, and however greatly disappointed, they still
go on with an uninterrupted complacency in their own wisdom.
They have failed, it is true, of the success, which they promised
themselves in their past plans ; but they are not less sure of suc-
ceeding in their future enterprizes. Misfortune, hitherto, has
been owing not to their own want of prudence, nor to any im-
perfection in their plans ; but to a series of unlucky accidents, or
to the blunders of those to whom the execution of them was
unhappily entrusted. But this plainly infers no reason, why they
should be at all less willing to confide in their future schemes.
Thus they trust in themselves just in the same manner, as if
all their former measures had been only prosperous.
2. To trust in our hearts is to trust in our own Schemes of
religion.
Persons of this character may be arranged into two classes.
The first of these consists of men^ who form religious systems^
independently of the Scriptures. By these I intend Infidels^ of
every description. Infidels, as you know, determine that the
Scriptures are not a Revelation from God. From the perempto-
riness with which this determination is made, the confidence
which they appear to place in their decisions, and the pretensions
which some of them make to talents and learning ; it is very
frequently supposed that this important question has often passed
Vol. II. 8
54 THE FOLLY OF TRUSTING [SER. IV.
in review before them, and undergone a very serious and thorough
examination. Nothing, however, is in most cases farther from
the truth. Very few even of those who are professed champions
in this cause, have investigated the subject with an attention, re-
motely approximating to that which it deserves. When the
question is concerning the existence of a Revelation, professedly
disclosing the will of God concerning the future destiny of man ;
its very nature demands of all men the most solemn care, and
the most critical inquiry. As all our interests are suspended on
the decision ; as annihilation and immortal existence form the
first alternative, and the glories of heaven and the miseries of
hell, the second, in our answer to this question, common sense
imperiously demands that we approach it with feelings of the
highest solemnity, examine it with the most vigilant inquisition,
and decide it with unimpeachable impartiality. Were we able,
indeed, to change the state of things by our determinations ;
could we exist or be annihilated, could we be happy or miserable,
at our pleasure ; it v/ould be sufficient, that our decision should
be peremptory. B^lt, since the change, actually wrought, is only
made in ourselves, and not in the purposes of God ; since we
shall exist, or not exist, the heirs of endless glory, or endless per-
dition, as he pleases ; it is evident, that, if we answer the ques-
tion lightly, falsely, or without sufficient proof, we answer it at
our peril. How plainly, then, ought it to be answered by every
man, as one who shall give an account.
In violent opposition to all this, however, it has been customa-
rily answered by confident assertions ; by a sarcasm, a sneer, a
laugh, a profane oath, or even a curse. Men of the world, men
of business, devotees to pleasure, persons uneducated, striplings,
nay even children, decide this tremendous question in the same
catesorical manner, as if their answer were the result of dem-
onstration. Have they examined it ? No. Have they read ? No.
Have they thought ? No. Whence, then, do they boldly deter-
mine on a question so momentous? They trust in their own hearts.
They were born with such capacities ; their qualities are of a
cast, so superior to the common attributes of men ; that without
SER. IV.] OUR OWN HEARTS. 55
reading, conversation, or reflection, they can solve a questioii
which demands more thought, learning and knowledge, than
they can comprehend. All wise men, who are acquainted with
them, see, that they are totally incompetent for the task which
they have undertaken. But in their own view there are no abler
judges. Ask them ; and they are giants in intellect. Ask oth-
ers ; and they are embryos.
Secondly. In this class are those arranged also, who profess
to believe, that the Scriptures are a divine revelation, and yet, in-
stead of making them the rule of their faith, ijivent_,^and adopt
a philosophical system of religion ; and in preience support it
by the Scriptures.
These persons professedly believe, and some of them, I doubt
not, persuade themselves that they actually believe, the scriptures
to be the word of God, and to contain his pleasure concerning
the duty and salvation of men. Of course, it would be naturally
supposed, they resort daily and diligently to this fountain of truth,
in order to learn their duty, and the way of life. Nothing can
be farther from the fact. Instead of betaking themselves to their
Maker, to learn the Religion which he has revealed, they form
a system of doctrines and precepts for themselves ; and then re-
sort to the Scriptures for texts, to support it. Instead of com-
ing to God, to learn his pleasure, they first determine what his
pleasure ought to be, and then compel his word, by perverting
its meaning, to speak whatever they themselves please. Instead
of receiving their religion from their Creator they make a reli-
gion for him ; and expect that he will conform to its dictates.
The true explanation, the real cause, of this conduct is that
these men trust in their own hearts ; that they rely on their own
ingenuity, their knowledge of moral subjects, their capacity to
devise a system of moral truth ; no less than professed Infidelso
If we profess to beheve the Scriptures, as a Revelation from
God ; there can be no greater absurdity, there can be no greater
indecency, than not to receive his declarations just as we find
them. Who hath known the mind of Jehovah ? or who hath
been his Counsellor ? Shall a worm of the dust instruct his Ma-
56 THE FOLLY OF TRUSTING [SER. IV.
ker ; pervert his truth ; substitute for it his own errors ; and by
annexing to it meanings, which He never intended, change it,
as did the philosophers of old, into a lie ?
A system of Religion involves in it the Character, Govern-
ment, and Designs, of God ; the nature, interests, and duty, of
man ; a future existence, and its mighty concerns ; the means
of pardon, justification, and final acceptance; and the means,
also, of perseverance in our duty unto the end. How plain is
it, that no mind, less than infinite, is able to comprehend these
immeasurable subjects. Who, beside God, can understand his
nature ? Whose eye can penetrate into the recesses of the Un-
created mind, and discern his views of moral objects ? The
manner, in which he regards holiness, and sin? the reward, which
he will render to those, who are the subjects of the opposite at-
tributes. The terms on which he will accept, and the manner
in which he will restore, sinners ? Or whether he will accept, or
restore, them at all ? Who can determine whether God will ac-
cept any worship from sinners ? Who, independantly of his de-
clarations, can tell whether there is any future reward, or even
any future being ?
How obvious is it, that, after all the expectations, labours, and
boasts, of man on these mighty subjects of investigation, the ut-
most which he has hitherto done, and therefore certainly the
utmost which he ever will do, is merely to form ingenious conjec-
tures ? But is the soul of man to be set afloat upon a guess ?
Who, that was not a fair candidate for bedlam, would hazard
even his property, nay his pleasure, upon an absolute uncertain-
ty ? Who, bound upon a voyage, in which he was to venture
himself and all his interests, would launch into an illimitable
ocean upon a plank ?
But, were all this less obvious, it should seem impossible for
mankind not to learn the truth, for which I contend, from the
voice of experience. Innumerable attempts have been contin-
ually made both by those who professedly believe, and those who
openly disbelieve, the Scriptures. Hitherto they have only made
shipwreck of the moral system. In all the schemes of doctrine
SER. IV.] OUR OWN HEARTS. 57
which they have contrived, they have furnished nothing on which
a sober man could for a moment venture his salvation. Not one
of them has discovered any means of expiating sin, obtaining
justification for sinners, or securing, or even rendering probable,
their admission into the favour of God. All the reliance of these
men has been placed on undefined, unsupported, and absolutely
imcertain, hopes of mercy, of which neither experience, reason
nor analogy, has hitherto been able to produce the least evidence.
To commit the soul to such a refuge, to lean for safety on such
a reed, is to put our all at hazard with a spirit of desperation.
But what men, so numerous, ingenious, laborious, and per-
severing, have never been able to do, will never be done by any
man. He, who will not admit this conclusion, from premises
which so obviously involve it, rejects it not from conviction, nor
even from plausible arguments, but from mere self sufficiency.
Nothing else will persuade him, that he is able to accomplish a
work, to which the powers of all his fellow men have been une-
qual. Nothing else, indeed, could induce him even to enter upon
an employment, so absolutely and so evidently hopeless.
3. Another specimen of trusting in our own hearts is confiding
in the goodness of our moral character.
This exercise of self sufficiency is manifested in many forms,
and varieties. Of these the
First, which I shall mention, is believing more favourably con-
cerning ourselves than truth will warrant.
This unhappy error is not confined to sinners : it is found but
too frequently in men, who present us many reasons to ac-
knowledge them as Christians.
Wicked men often believe themselves to be virtuous, not only
without, but against evidence ; and from mere self sufficiency.
Were they to examine themselves with either care or candour :
they would find nothing, on which, in their own view, this opin-
ion could rest even with plausibility. Reason demands, the
Scriptures demand, their own eternal interests loudly demand,
that they should search both their hearts, and their lives, with
unceasing diligence, deep solicitude, and entire impartiality :
58 THE FOLLY OF TKUSTiNG L^ER. IV.
that they should anxiously consuh others, especially men of ac-
knowleged wisdom and goodness, concerning their moral condi-
tion ; and above all, that they should bring their character for
trial to the Gospel ; the great touchstone of righteousness. What-
ever they do, or can do, short of this, is merely the result of con-
fidence in their own hearts. Until this is done, they will only de-
ceive themselves. Until this is done, they may indeed, in their
own view, liave a name to live^ but they will be really dead. Were
it effectually done ; the delusion would vanish ; and one ground of
hope would be actually gained, that they might hereafter change
both their condition, and their character, for the better.
With the same conduct good men, to an extent which is not
small, are chargeable also. I wish, it were in our power to deny
this humiliating position. But, if we adhere to truth, we shall be
obliged to confess, that even such men often beheve themselves
to be much better than they really are.
Young converts, true converts, possessing real and evangelical
worth, are in this respect frequently unhappy. Their feelings are
warm and vigorous; their imaginations active; and their reli-
gious experience almost nothing. The dictates of their imagina-
tion they easily and not unwillingly mistake for the decisions of
sound judgment ; and the impulse of their passions, for the glow
of evangelical love. On these sands they build their hopes and
estimates of their religious character. Of such dictates and im-
pulses, they indeed have many : and were they sound evidence of
this great point, the true character of the persons in question
would, in a less degree, be misapprehended by themselves. But
alas ! these things have nothing to do with religion. They are
pressed into the service ; and are made to evince that, to which
they have no reference, and can have no application.
What is true of these converts is true of multitudes of religious
men, who possess the same vigor of fancy, and the same warmth
of feeling. Particularly is it the case with ignorant Christians.
In them often, feeling is neither balanced nor regulated by those
sound, rational views of the evangelical system, which more
knowledge of it, and a superior capacity of judging, would fur-
SER. IV.3 OUR OWN HEARTS. 59
nish. The real evidences of piety tliey imperfectly collect, im-
perfectly compare, and of course imperfectly understand. Thus
situated, they remain in a sense young converts while they live.
Yet in numerous instances they prove by their conversation and
behaviour, that they think themselves strong men in Christ ;
while all the discerning Christians around them clearly perceive,
that they are mere babes. Often they discuss, and decide upon,
subjects of high import, which lie beyond their reach. Often
they dictate religious measures to those, who are greatly their
superiours in every evangehcal attainment. Sometimes they un-
dertake to lead the devotions of public assemblies, from a per-
suasion, not unfrequently awakened and cherished by other igno-
rant men, that they are endowed with extraordinary gifts, and
have acquired an eminent degree of holiness. Nay numbers of
such men enter the desk, without any preparation for an office,
so solemn and so difficult as that of a minister of the Gospel.
Here, unlearned and unstable as they are, they frequently wrest
the Scriptures to the very serious injury of themselves, and the
destruction of others. ''^ I command every man among you,'''' says
St. Paul, '■'■riot to think of himself more highly than he ought to
think, but to think soberly,'^'' (or with a sound judgment,) '■'■accord-
ing as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.'''' " Love
vaunteth not itself and is not puffed up.'''' '■'■If aman thinketh
himself something, when he is nothing, he deceiveth himself. But
let every man prove his own work ; (that is examine what he has
done ; and from that trial, not from his feelings, learn his true
character) " and then,'''' says the Apostle, " he shall have rejoicing
in himself, and. not in another.''''
'•'■My brethren,'''' says St. James, " be not many teachers ; know-
ing, that we shall receive the greater condemnation.'''' In other
words, this is the way to expose ourselves to that greater con-
demnation.
It deserves to be remarked, that all superstitious persons,
and all enthusiasts, have ever been of this character, and pur-
sued this unhappy conduct. This, certainly, ought to be enough,
and more than enough, to warn every Christian of his danger
60 THE FOLLY OF TRUSTING [SER. IV.
from this source ; especially, Avhen it is remembered on the other
hand, that the best and wisest Christians, who have lived, have
uniformly been the most humble and self denying.
Secondly. To expect justification before God on account of
our own righteousness is another specimen of the same character.
Such an expectation cannot be derived either from reason, or
revelation. Revelation declares such a justification to be impos-
sible ; and as if aware, that we should hardly be satisfied with the
bare testimony even of God himself, condescends to prove the
point by arguments, which are irresistible. We are there shown
to have violated the law of God, and to be condemned by its
irreversible sentence to suffer its penalty. With equal clearness
is it proved, that no means of expiation are in our power. The
very services, to which we should naturally resort as such means,
are declared to be so far from constituting an expiation, that they
are in themselves sinful, and therefore need to be expiated. In-
stead of becoming means of our deliverance, therefore, they only
plunge us deeper in guilt.
To this unanswerable proof Reason subjoins her testimony.
She acknowledges both the sin, and the condemnation ; and con-
fesses, that the way for our escape is forever barred. With sighs,
and tears, she mourns over our miserable apostacy ; and exclaims
" We are all as an unclean thing ; and all our righteousnesses
are as filthy rags : and we all do fade as a leaf: and our iniqui-
ties^ like the wind, have taken us away /"
But self sufficiency sees the way clear, to the attainment of
this mighty object ; and the proofs, which she summons to her
aid, miserable as they are, are yet strong enough to satisfy her
wishes, to minister to the soul comfort and hope, and to prevent
it from seeking the justification, disclosed in the Gospel.
Thirdly. Another example of the same character is exhibited
in the Confidence, with which toe feel ourselves to be secure
against such Temptations, as have usually overcome others.
This confidence, extensively as it is cherished, is a violation of
all good sense, and a contradiction to all experience. On what
is it founded ? On the apprehension which we entertain, that
SER. IV.] OUR OWN HEARTS. 61
we possess more prudence, firmness, and worth, than any, or all
of those who have become victims to such temptations. What
proofs have we that we possess this character ? None. What
is the sentence of Reason ? That self-confident men are always
in danger, and most easily overcome. What is that of scrip-
ture ? " Let him^ that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest hefalV
Fourthly. Another example of confiding in the goodness of
our moral character is exhibited in the postponement of liepen'
tance to a future day.
There are two principal causes of this procrastination. We
dislike the business to be done ; and feel secure^ that we shall be
both able and willing to do it hereafter. Both shew in a strong
light the miserable overweening of the procrastinator. Were
he not blind ; he would discern that these reasons will exist at
every future period. We dislike repentance because we love
sin. But we shall love sin to morrow, and every succeeding day;
and love it with continually increasing strength. It will there-
fore prevent us from repenting to morrow, as it has done to day.
All human experience proves this, beyond every reasonable
doubt. Yet in defiance of this experience in himself, and in all
other men, the procrastinator secretly believes that to morrow he
shall love sin less, and be more willing to become a penitent.
What is to produce this change in his character ? The mere
flux of time ; the revolutions of the sun ; the circuits of the mi-
nute hand on the face of a clock. But when, and where, have
men become more prepared to repent by merely growing older ?
The procrastinator himself may not improbably answer, " Nev-
er." Whence, then, does he expect to become a penitent on
some future day ? From his own peculiar wisdom, and forecast;
perfectly inefficacious to accomplish the end now, but by some
magical process to be made completely efficacious at that happy
period. How plainly is this expectation an abuse of all the dic-
tates of common sense, and common experience. What an in-
sult is it on the word of God ! It is to trust, as the drunkard trusts,
that the present cup will lead him back to sobriety ; or, as the
thief, that stealing will make him an honest man.
Vol. II. 9
62 THE FOLLY OF TRUSTING [SER. IV.
II. / will now endeavour to shew the Folly of trusting in our
own hearts.
1 . In the common business of life it is certainly not true, that
our measures discover the superiour wisdom and prudence, which
we challenge in our religious concerns. Were we to make the
attempt, we should be greatly at a loss for evidence that we rise
above the average character of man. By those around us it will
certainly not be acknowledged. Nor is it evidenced by any pecu-
liar success in the execution of our plans. What then is the
proof that it is just ? The only answer is, " Our own opinion."
By whom do we see this opinion most frequently and most forci-
bly manifested ? The proverbial answer of common sense is, " By
children and fools." Do those, who by the public opinion, and
their own success, are proved wise, exhibit it more, or less, than
others. Every one of us will be obliged to answer, " The least,
of all men." In our self-sufficiency, then, we are contrasted to
the wise, and resemble children and fools.
What say the Scriptures ? The text gives the answer. If that
is not sufficient, they add with still more pungency, " Seest thou
a man wise in his own conceit ? There is more hope of a fool than
of him.'''' The only argument, which can be alledged in the
case, is that with which enthusiasts bolster themselves. They
are possessed of divine communications, because they know it ;
and they know it, because they possess them. Deplorable proof
of a deplorable opinion !
To trust in rehgious systems, devised by ourselves, is to contra-
dict Common sense. It is impossible, that these systems should
be true. We do not, and cannot, possess the knowledge which
is indispensable to the formation of a system of religion. We
cannot know the things, out of which the system must be com-
posed. We know neither the character of God ; nor his will ;
nor his designs ; nor the rules, by which he is to be worshipped ;
nor the rules of our conduct ; nor the means of salvation ; nor
the attainableness of it by any means whatever. Without
these materials a religious system is nothing. But to attempt to
form such a system, without possesing the materials of which it
SER. IV.] OUR OWN HEARTS. 63
is to be constituted, is to build a house, without timber, brick, or
stone. Fools only can be thus employed. Nor are those, who,
■professing to believe the Scriptures, pervert their declarations,
in order to support schemes of religion, devised by themselves,
less openly at war with common sense, than Infidels themselves.
In this case, a being of yesterday rejects the counsels of the Eter-
nal God ; acknowledges them to be his, and substitutes in their
place his own imaginations. A worm lifts up his crest, and de-
clares himself wiser than his Maker.
Equally evident is the folly of those, who confide in the good-
ness of their moral character. We are not thus good. Sinners
are sinners only. Righteous men are far less excellent than they
are prone to think themselves ; and ought always, when pon-
dering their own character, to let their remaining corruptions
hold a prominent place in their thoughts. " / am unworthy of
the least of all thy mercies,'''' said Jacob. " Behold, I am vile,
what shall I answer thee .^" said Job to his Maker. " Behold I
was shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me,''"'
said David. " To me belongeth shame, and confusion of face
because I have sinned,'''' said Daniel. " O wretched man that I
am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?'''' said
St. Paul. So have said all the pious of every age : and, the
the more pious, the more have they adopted the language of this
humility.
2dly. It is folly because it is ruinous.
" Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit, before a
falV' This inscription may with exact propriety be written upon
every determination, and every effort, of self confidence : For it is
the general sentence of God on the spirit itself, and on all its un-
dertakings. Evils ever present, and by a self-sufiicient spirit ever
unforeseen, arrest the proud, vain man in all the common business of
life : and against them he has made no provision. When warned of
his danger, he only replies with the Pharisees, '■^ Am I blind also?''''
Hence he falls into a pit, which, if he would have opened his
eyes, he might have shunned ; and is entangled in snares, which
men more modest and cautious easily escape.
64 THE FOLLY OE TRUSTING [SER. IV.
In all the religious cases, which I have specified the evil is still
more certain, as well as more dreadful. False schemes of reli-
gion are of course fatal schemes. To trust in them is to tt^ust
in refuges of lies, which the hail shall sweep away. Truth, only,
can conduct us to heaven, or to God ; and human schemes of
religion are of course not true. God will accept us on his own
terms only, if at all : and these terms man cannot discover.
Besides, a self sufficient proud spirit is pre-eminently odious
to God. Pride was the sin of the fallen angels. It was the sin
of our first parents. It is the sin of us, their children. It turned
those angels out of heaven. It ruined Adam, and his posterity.
It will not, therefore, restore us to the favour of God.
REMARKS.
1st. From these observations we learn that Humility is a prime
duty, and interest, of man.
Humility is merely a just sense of our character and circum-
stances, and a disposition conformed to it : a willingness to be-
lieve and to feel, that we are what we really are. Think then, I
beseech you, what we are. We sprang from the dust yesterday :
to morrow we go to the grave. Our knowledge is Hmited to a
few, a very few objects ; and bounded by a span. At the same
time it is mingled with a multitude of errors ; always mischiev-
ous, and very often fatal. Truth is invariably one and the same
thing. But how widely diverse from one another are human
opinions ; and how widely diverse, of course, except a single
system of opinions from truth. That all, but this system, are
erroneous is mathematically certain. Whether that system is
true, is yet to be determined. Such is the state of our boasted
reason. Our disposition is even more unhappy than our intel-
lect. Ourselves we abuse, corrupt, and destroy. Our fellow
men we envy, hate, deceive, defraud, and oppress. God we ei-
ther absolutely forget, or insult with impiety, ingratitude, and
rebellion. Thus our character is odious, shameful and sinful, in
his sight, and in our own. He has most mercifully offered to re-
SER. IV.] OUR OWN HEARTS. 65
store us to piety, and to endless life, through the redemption of
his Son, and the benevolent agency of his holy Spirit. But we
reject the offer, disbelieve his Son, and resist the influence of his
spirit. Our life, in the mean time, is a course of frailty, disease,
pain, sorrow, and disappointment. The world is a vale of tears,
leading to the grave, to the judgment, and to everlasting woe.
Of what, then, shall man be proud? Of his origin; his ignorance;
his errors ; his guilt ; his misery ; or his end? What greater fol-
ly can be conceived than this ? How plainly ought such beings
to be humble ? How loudly do their character, and their circum-
stances, demand of them humility ?
Humility renders us lovely. It recommends us to God : it
isecures us the esteem of our fellow men : it reconciles us to
ourselves. Every eye, which looks on, perceives its beauty : eve-
ry heart responds to its excellence.
At the same time, it is immeasurably profitable. It prepares
us to perceive and welcome truth ; evangelical truth ; truth, of
infinite importance to us ; breaks down our most obstinate and
dangerous prejudices ; makes us willing to perform our duty ;
and fits us for endless life. Humility, therefore, is true wisdom ;
indispensable to our well-being, in time and eternity.
2dly. These observations teach us the chief origin of infidel-
ity, and heresy.
St. Paul long since styled infidelity " philosophy and vain de-
eeit :" a Hebraism to express a vain and deceitful philosophy.
Arrogance began this scheme of thinking ; and arrogance has
brought it down to the present time. The whole body of infi-
dels have ever been distinguished by their self conceit from all
other classes of men. Pride rises, as a scum, on all their books,
and on all their conversation. The vanity, which they discover
in their treatment of the Scriptures, and of their fellow men, is
rank and fetid. Contempt, insolence, ridicule, and sneers, are
the weapons, with which they attack truth and Christianity, and
with which they arm themselves against God. Who would sus-
pect that beings, who lift so lofty a crest, were worms, just ush-
ered into existence, creeping through their little day of life, and
66 THE FOLLY OF TRUSTING [SER. IV.
returning at night to the dust from which they sprang. Who
would suspect that they were poor, and miserable, and naked,
and bhnd, and in want of all things. Who would mistrust, that
all this loftiness of character, these boasts of self conceit, be-
long to creatures putrid with sin, loathsome in the sight of God,
and destined to perdition.
Almost all the ancient heretics, says Dr. Lardner, were phi-
losophers. Such, to an equal extent, have been those of mod-
ern times. These men, now, as in all preceding periods, pro-
fessedly receive the Scriptures, and then set them aside ; make
a system of religion, and then attribute it to God. Deplorable
impiety ! Wonderful lunacy ! How few of the scenes of bedlam
exhibit so entire a destitution of reason, or so bewildered a do-
mination of the passions of the human heart.
3dly. We learn from these observations, one of the principal
sources of the practical unbelief, and the final ruin, of sinners
ivho specidatively believe the Gospel.
All these men trust in their own hearts ; and are fools in this
confidence. Most of them, perhaps every one, intend ultimately
to obey the Scriptures, and turn to God. Now, however, they
are not ready : but the golden season is on the wing, is in full
view, and is daily approaching, in which all things will be per-
fectly prepared for the accomplishment of this great purpose,
acknowledged even by them to be indispensable. It is a day,
formed in the womb of time with auspices peculiarly happy : the
very contrast to the day of Job''s birth, as it appeared to his dis-
tempered imagination. It has been named by God himself, as
they would fondly believe, the accepted time, and the day of sal-
vation. Every sinner has such a day, which his Maker has espe-
cially destined to his own use : a day, in which all the obstacles to
his repentance will be removed. To this delightful. Paradisiacal
period he refers, and feels that he may safely refer, the momen-
tous concern of providing for the immortal life of his own soul.
How melancholy is it, that this Elysian season never arrives ;
that no sinner ever finds it ; that on it no sinner ever repented ;
that, if his repentance be delayed in expectation of it, it is de-
SER. IV.] OUR OWN HEARTS. 67
layed forever, unless God should arrest him in his progress, and
awake him out of the delirious slumbers of procrastination.
This conduct has been the ruin of milUons of our race ; and
will but too probably be the ruin of milHons more, who might oth-
erwise be saved. The broad and crooked path, ivhich leadeth to
destruction, groans under the crowd of procrastinators. The
confidence, which they feel in their future sufficiency to repent,
has destroyed more than the sword, the famine, or the pestilence.
Because sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily,
the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil ; and
madness is in their hearts while they live- ^ and after that they
go to the dead.
SERMON V.
THE PRODIGAL SON.— Sermon I.
— ■^ft I— ■
Luke xv. 11 — 17.
And he said, A certain man had two sons.
And the younger of them said to his father, " Father, give me
the portion of goods, that falleth to me.'''' And he divided unto
them his living.
And not many days after, the younger son gathered all togeth-
er, and took his journey into afar country ; and there wasted his
substance with riotous living.
And, ivhen he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in
that land ^ and he began to be in want.
And he went, and joined himself to a citizen of that country ;
and he sent him into his fields to feed swine.
And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks, that
the swine did eat ; and no man gave unto him.
And, when he came to himself, he said, " How many hired ser-
vants of my father''s have bread enough, and to spare ; and I
perish with hunger /"
This parable is naturally capable of a twofold construction.
The first, and probably that which it was intended especially to
have, is, that it is an exhibition of the comparative state of the
Jews and the Gentiles, and of the dispensations of God to both.
The second supposes it to be an account of persons, externally
and regularly obedient to the law of God, and therefore right-
eous in their own eyes, and of those, who from a state of shame,
sin, and ruin, return with a godly sorrow for their guilt, to a
state of obedience and reconciliation to God. As this was spee-
dily to be illustrated in the conversion of the Gentiles ; as their
8ER. v.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 69
sinful condition was essentially the same with that of every sin-
ner ^ and their conversion, that of every convert ; the latter of
these constructions becomes entirely parallel with the former ;
and may with strict propriety be assumed as true. I shall, there-
fore, adopt it on the present occasion.
This parable is, upon the whole, the best prosaic composition
in the Scriptures. The subject is interesting beyond expression.
The narrative is told with the simplicity of a child, and with a
skill which answers to the highest wish of criticism. The facts
are selected with extreme felicity, and arranged in the happiest
order. The language is so concise, that there is not a word to
spare ; and so perspicuous, that not another word is necessary.
No story, of the same length, is equally important to man, or
equally pathetic. It ends also precisely where it ought, with a
complete annunciation of the catastrophe, and at the interesting
moment when the feelings are raised to the highest pitch. It
contains almost as many truths, as words ; and all these are
fraught with instruction, of the most momentous nature : while
the moral, if I may call it such, deeply interests the inhabitants
of heaven, and awakens hope and transport in the whole family
of Adam.
In explaining a parable we are ever to remember the danger,
into which some critics have fallen, of endeavoring to adapt
every fact and word to the principal meaning of the allegory.
The nature of allegorical writing demands of course, that some
things should be said, in order to make the composition complete;
in order to give meaning and force, grace and beauty, to the
story ; so that it may be read with pleasure, and may make hap-
py impressions. In these it is folly to hunt for any further mean-
ing. The greatest justice will ever be done to compositions of
this nature, when those instructions, and those only, are found
in them, which they obviously contain, or can clearly be shewn
to contain. Such will be the plan of explanation, intentionally
pursued in the following discourse.
In this parable, the Father represents God ; the elder son, the
Jews ; and the younger, the Gentiles. Or the former may denote
Vol. II. 10
70 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. V.
a moral, self righteous man ; and the latter, a very sinful one, be-
coming a penitent. Of the many evangelical doctrines, which,
understood in the last sense, it conveys tons, I select the following.
1st. Sinners reg-ard God no farther^ than to gain from him
whatever they can.
This truth is forcibly exhibited in the parable. And the youn-
ger son said unto his Father^ " Father, give me the portion of
goods, that falleth to me." " And he divided unto them his living.
And not many days after theyounger son gathered all together, and
took his journey into a far country." This youth was obviously
disposed to be no farther connected with his parent, than was
necessary, in order to obtain from him the property which his
bounty might induce him to bestow. It was evidently his design,
when he asked for this portion, to leave his benevolent parent
as soon as he conveniently could. Within a few days he execu-
ted this design ; and not only left him, but in his intentions left
him finally ; for he went into a far country, from which he evi-
dently intended never to return. It was for this reason, that he
gathered all together ; and that he asked for his whole portion.
This voluntary estrangement, also, was I think the peculiar sub-
ject of his sorrow and contrition, luhen he came to himself: the
crime, which he most deeply lamented, and which in his view
rendered him peculiarly unworthy to be regarded as a son.
No words could more successfully exhibit this part of a sinful
character. All sinners are willing to be connected with their
Maker, so long and so far, as they think they can gain any thing
from his hands. Men, of this description, have a loose and in-
definite apprehension, that their blessings are derived from God ;
without knowing, perhaps, or even thinking, how much they are
indebted to Him, how much to what they call Nature, and how
much to themselves. Generally, and in "this country perhaps al-
ways, they believe that they derive from him their existence, and,
in a remote and subordinate sense, their enjoyments. As he
made them ; they believe, that he is bound to provide for them ;
and that with no very sparing or illiberal hand. Wliat he gives,
they gather ^ and, during the period of enjoyment, think of him
no more.
SER. v.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 71
This spirit is expressed with the utmost precision and beauty,
in the address of the prodigal to his parent : " Father give me
the portion of goods, that faileth to me ;" not such a portion, as
the bounty of his Father might induce him kindly to bestow ;
but that, wliichfdl to him in the course of things ; to wliich he
had a right ; and which, therefore, he now claimed at his hands.
In exact accordance with the disposition here manifested, sin-
ners feel no gratitude to God for the blessings which they receive;
and never regard them as gifts of his bounty, but as enjoyments
to which they have a claim, and on which, therefore, they riot
without even an acknowledgment. That they deserve nothing
at his hands, and that he still continues to give them innumera-
ble blessings, are considerations, which, although apparently
fitted to overcome any obstinacy, and break down any self-de-
pendence, awaken in them neither gratitude nor humility, nei-
ther faith nor repentance.
The prodigal was impatient of living with his Father. He
loved not his character, nor his mode of life ; the order of his
house, nor the employments of his family. All these things were
of such a nature, as to counteract his ruling propensities, and
violate his favourite views, wishes, and hopes. In the same man-
ner the character and ways of God, as they are holy, pure, and
perfect, are only painful to a sinful heart. Hence they reject both
him and them, as much as possible, from their thoughts. The
moral distance, to which they remove from him is exactly imag-
ed by the prodigal's journey into a far country. They betake
themselves to a world of sin and sinners ; a region, where all the
pursuits are opposed to God, and all the inhabitants are strangers.
Here religion, God its object, and Heaven its end, are disregard-
ed and forgotten ; and other objects, of a nature wholly opposite,
engross the heart and the life. This region is not our Father's
house. Heaven is the soul's home. Every where else it is a stran-
ger, and finds no abiding place ; a wanderer, lost, bewildered,
and forgotten.
2dly. Sinners waste their blessings, and reduce themselves to
absolute want.
72 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. V,
In tlie far country to which the prodigal took his journey, he
wasted his substance ivith riotous living ; in the Greek, living
projligately^ he entirely scattered his substance. To show his
absolute poverty, Christ adds, " and when he had spent all.'"
The portion, distributed to him, was amply sufficient, had he ex-
ercised common prudence, to have carried him comfortably through
life. But nothing will supply the demands of prodigality.
The blessings communicated to sinners, were given for noble
ends ; and are means abundantly sufficient for their accomplish-
ment. This is true of all their blessings, and peculiarly true of
their powers of soul and body. With these it was intended, that
they should know, love, serve, and enjoy, God ; promote the well-
being of their fellow men ; and secure to themselves comfort
here, and immortal life hereafter. But to all these every sinner
is steadily opposed, and vigorously hostile. His views, his wish-
es, his designs, terminate in himself; and of course are not only
useless to every really valuable purpose, but directly frustrate the
benevolent designs of God towards him. " Israel," says the
prophet Hosea with exact precision, " is an empty vine. He
bringelh forth fruit unto himself" Selfishness is abundantly
fruitful, in its own view ; and the soul is perpetually looking for
the enjoyment, which its produce is constantly expected to yield.
But its fruits are those, which are fabulously said to grow on the
borders of the Red Sea ; beautiful apples without, but within
nothing but bitter ashes.
Riotous livings in the moral, as well the natural, sense, brings
on absolute poverty. All the pursuits of avarice, ambition, and
voluptuousness, are as injurious to the soul, as prodigality and
luxury to the body ; and leave it, in the end, poor indeed. How
little do the miserable wretches, who give up life, conscience, and
hope, to these objects, think of the views which God forms of
their conduct, or what will be its end.
3dly. Ajflictions are very often the first means of bringing
sinners to a sense of their condition.
" And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in
that land ; and he began to be in want." So long as there was
SER. v.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 73
food in the country, the prodigal felt, in some measure, safe.
When the famine commenced, he began then to be destitute,
and to feel that he was destitute : and this consciousness of suf-
fering, derived from the famine spread around him, was the first
rational apprehension, which he entertained of himself or his
condition, and the first step towards his relief.
Could sinners open their eyes ; they would distinctly perceive,
that this world is destitute of the good which they so ardently
covet, and so eagerly pursue ; that a famine absolutely prevails
in it of such enjoyments as are necessary to sustain the soul. Nay,
if they would open their ears, and believe what they hear, they
would want no farther means of conviction. History is almost
only a tale of sins and sorrows. The stream of tears has flow-
ed down from the apostacy to the present hour. Sighs have
been breathed in every wind : and there is hardly a mountain, or
a hill, which has not echoed to the groans of human anguish.
Were a man, says Bishop Berkeley^ to escape from this world,
and to gain admission into a world, unpolluted with sin ; he
would probably return with much the same reluctance, as a pris-
oner liberated from his chains, would go back to a dungeon.
Insensible as sinners usually are to the whole miport of these
truths, and confidently as they expect to find, somewhere, the
happiness for which their souls so ardently long ; there are sea-
sons, at which many of them awake to their real condition.
Some severe suffering may lay hold even on a hard heart ; and force
the mind to reahze its condition. Before, it said to itself, '' I am
rich, and increased in goods, and have need of nothing." Now
it perceives that it is " wretched, and miserable, and poor, and
blind, and naked."
4thly. When sinners first acquire such a sense of their condi-
tion ; they betake themselves to false measures for relief
The prodigal, in his distress, went^ and joined himself to a citi-
zen of that country. And he sent him into his fields to feed
swine. This citizen himself lived in that land of famine ; and
therefore had, in all probability, little or nothing to give to the
suffering wretch, had he been ever so well disposed. We know,
74 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. V.
that he actually gave him nothing. At the same time he sent
Mm into Ms fields to feed swine : an employment every where low
and debasing; but in the eye of a Jew, such as those were to
whom this parable was addressed, supremely debasing, and held
in religious abhorrence. Nothing could less correspond with
the real interest of this unhappy man. He needed food, clothes,
comfort, encouragement, hope, better friends, and more desira-
ble employments. Thus the measures, to which he betook him-
self, were all false, fruitless, and fitted to increase, not to lessen,
both the calamities whicii he suffered, and the distresses which
futurity presented to him in a long and diamal train.
He ought immediately to have returned to his Father's house.
There, if any where, he might reasonably have expected to find
friends. Parents love their children long after they have ceased
either to be dutiful, or hopeful. There, also, he ha3 reason to
believe, means might be found both of support and comfort.
There, finally, his profligacy might have been terminated ; and
he, by the happy efficacy of repentance and reformation, have
been restored to an approving conscience and a virtuous life.
When sinners begin to feel, that they are alienated from God,
and that God is alienated from them, their first eflforts for their
deliverance from this miserable situation are attempts to quiet
their consciences, either by mixing with companions, whose
conversation and pursuits may enable them to forget their alarms,
turn their eyes from their character, and follow quietly their for-
mer courses ; or to persuade themselves that the doctrines and
denunciations of the Scriptures are to be understood with many
qualifications and softenings, and that their case, is therefore not
so bad, as they had been accustomed to suppose it. If neither
of these schemes will succeed, they attempt to make their condi-
tion better by leaving off one sin, and performing one duty and
another ; particularly those, which are of an external nature. In
all this there is not a single attempt to amend the heart; where
the whole evil lies. In the first and second of these methods,
their lives will become more, in the third commonly less, gross
than before. But even in this case there is no radical change for
SER. v.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 75
the better. If they attach themselves to such as they are ; they
wiJl only conduct them to base employments, to greater guilt,
and to more absolute degradation.
In the mean time, not a step is taken towards the sinner's
home. The fewer sins he commits, the less he may suffer in the
future world ; still, while he loves sin, he will steadily go onward
towards perdition. All his efforts of this nature will therefore
avail him nothing. His first duty is to repent of his sins, and
turn to God. Every measure, short of this, is a false measure.
His companions can never purify his mind from sin ; and neither
he, nor they can save him from destruction.
5thly. This situation of a sinner is eminently unhappy.
The prodigal had spent his estate ; was in a land of famine ;
had become a servant to a neighboring citizen ; was sent into
his fields, to feed swine ; and was on the point of starving for
want of food. So low was he reduced, that " he would fain
have filled his belly with the husks, which the swine did eat." So
low was he reduced, that, in the language of the original, he was
earnestly desirous to feed with the swine, upon the pods of le-
guminous plants ; such as beans and peas ; or the pods of the
Carob tree, which not a little resemble them. What must have
been the situation of him, to whom these things were objects of
earnest desire.
But this was not all. We are further informed that no man
gave unto him. In this miserable situation he was absolutely des-
titute of friends, hopeless of relief, and a stranger even to pity.
Neither was this all. To these ingredients of wretchedness
was added a species of distraction. For the parable subjoins,
" when he came to himself" Before this, therefore, he was not
in his right mind. It is not, indeed, to be supposed, that he was
in the proper sense delirious ; but that by means of his profliga-
cy and his distresses, his thoughts had become so disordered, as
to be incapable of controlling his conduct with advantage, or
directing him to safety and happiness.
Strong as this picture is ; it is an exactly just representation
of the sinner's miserable state, in the circumstances which are
7G THE PRODIGAL SON. [SfeR. V.
specified. In this state, his soul, instead of betaking itself for
sustenance to the bread of hfe, labours to satisfy itself upon
husks. Nay, it is said, in the Scriptures, " to feed upon wind,
and to follow the East wind ;" and even to eat only in imagina-
tion; " as when an hungry man dreameth, and behold, he eateth;
but he awaketh, and his soul is empty." All the objects, to
which the sinner resorts, are mere husks ; mere wind ; visionary
food ; such as can never satisfy his mental hunger, the longing
of his soul for good.
At the same time, no one gives to him. There is but one, who
can give ; and to him he does not apply. Other beings, however
disposed, could not give him if they would ; and those, to whom
he actually applies, would not if they could.
At the same time also, he is beside himself. Madness is justly
defined to be that state of mind, in which, although it is able to
reason, the principles with which it sets out, and of course the
conclusions with which it ends, are false and deceiving. Hence
it pursues little good, and neglects that which is great ; is intent
on trifles, and forgets objects of the highest importance. Such
is the true character of sinners. Their real interests they neg-
lect ; and look for happiness to things of no value. The favour
of God, the forgiveness of their sins, and the immortal interests
of their souls, are all forgotten by them : while yet they struggle
hard to find a substitute for these inestimable blessings in the
toys of ambition, the dross of avarice and the riot of sensuality.
To lose these blessings for any reason whatever is to be delirious.
It is madness to love sin at all, to be an enemy of God, or to
hazard the loss of the soul, for a day, an hour, or a moment ; to
trust to a future reformation, and peculiarly to a death-bed re-
pentance : madness, compared with which, the extravagances
of Bedlam are the effusions of sober reason.
6thly. The repentance of the Gospel is the resumption of a
right mind.
" When he came to himself," says our Saviour. " God," says
St. Paul, " has given us the spirit of a sound mind." 2. Tim. i. 7,
SER. v.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 77
No person, who reads this parable, will hesitate a moment to
admit, that the prodigal now first resumed his reason ; or that,
before, he thought and acted like a madman. Truth passes the
same sentence concerning a sinner, in both situations.
When a sinner first begins to entertain thoughts, which are
sincerely penitent ; he first begins to see moral subjects as they
really are. Accordingly, men in a state of impenitence are,
throughout the Scriptures, styled blind; and the manner, in which
they regard spiritual subjects, is styled hlindness. Thus in Isaiah
xlii. 16. God says " I will bring the blind by a way, which they
knew not ; I will lead them in paths that they have not known."
And again in verse 18. "Hear, ye deaf ; and look, ye blind,
that ye may see." Of wicked ministers he says, chapter, Ivi.
10. " His watchmen are blind ; they are all ignorant." In the
same manner, Christ addresses the Pharisees, Matthew xxiii.
" Woe unto you ye blind guides ;" " Ye fools, and blind ;" and,
" Thou blind Pharisee."
Of our Saviour it is said, Mark iii. 5. that he looked around upon
the sinful Jews, who opposed his design of healing the man with
a withered hand, being grieved for the blindness of their hearts.
" He that hateth his brother," says St. John, " is in darkness,
and walketh in darkness ; and knoweth not whither he goeth,
because that darkness hath blinded his eyes." 1. John ii. 11.
" If our Gospel be hid," says St. Paul, " it is hid to them, that
are lost : In whom the God of this world hath blinded the minds
of them that believe not, lest the light of the glorious Gospel of
Christ, who is the image of God, should shine unto them."
2. Cor. iv. 3. 4.
When a sinner begins to exercise a spirit of repentance; he
begins first to see moral objects, as they are ; and to feel towards
them emotions accordant with their real nature. Sin itself, in
which before he so much delighted, he perceives, for the first
time, to be an evil and hitter thing. His own moral character,
which before he thought in many respects good, and in none very
bad, he now discerns to be deformed and loathsome. God he
he now readily pronounces to be just ; his law, holy, righteou*.
Vol. n. 11
78 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. V.
and reasonable ; and his own violations of it, deserving of the
divine anger. Christ, for the first time, he sees to be divinely
excellent and lovely ; and an interest in his atonement to be
infinitely desirable. His heart he willingly acknowledges to be
" deceitful above all things and desperately wicked ; and all his
righteousnesses as filthy rags."
This world he begins to consider merely as a stage of proba-
tion ; its blessings as means of his support during his pilgrimage,
and of his beneficence to his fellow men ; the 'pleasures of sin as
momentary, deceitful, and ruinous; and godliness as jJrof fable
to all things, having promise of the life which now is, and of that
which is to come.
Among the things, which the sinner realizes, when he first
comes to himself, are the following.
First, His own miserable condition.
" I," said the prodigal, " perish with hunger." When the
sinner looks round upon his circumstances and into his soul, he
sees that he is ivretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and
naked. In the moral sense, he has nothing. He is destitute
alike of happiness and safety, of righteousness and hope. These
are not the conclusions of despondency ; the views of a distur-
bed mind ; the suggestions of terror. They are the sober con-
clusions of rational thought ; and are founded on the most solid
evidence. Of this the proof is complete : for every sanctified
man entertains the same views concerning his former sinful con-
dition, to his dying day : and they continually become clearer
and more satisfactory, while he lives. They are, therefore, the
decisions of the soundest reflection, and the most rational ap-
prehensions concerning ourselves. There is not a child of God
in the world, who does not with the strongest feelings often, very
often, say with David, " If thou Lord shouldest mark iniquity,
O Lord, who shall stand ?"
There is nothing in ourselves, which God can accept ; noth-
ing, which can contribute towards the expiation of our guilt ;
nothing, which can at all become the ground of our justification.
To this state of man all the invitations of the Gospel are con-
SER. v.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 79
formed. " Ho every one that thirsteth ;" saith God by the proph-
et Isaiah, " come ye to the waters ; and he that hath no money ;
Come ye, buy and eat ; yea come, buy wine and milk, without
money, and without price." " Come unto me," saith our Sa-
viour, " all ye that labour, and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest." Whosoever will, let him come, and take the water
of life freely." All these invitations, and many others like them,
are obviously directed to those, who have nothing of their own,
and are literally in want of all things. The proper, the instinc-
tive, language of every penitent is, " God be merciful to me a
sinner."
As these views are just ; it is evident that he, who has them
not, has no just apprehensions of his condition, and has not yet
begun to regard himself, as he is regarded by his Maker. Who-
ever, therefore, supposes himself to be a penitent, and has yet
not discerned that this is his real situation, is only deceiving him-
self, and building upon the sand. These views enter into th§
nature and essence of repentance ; and, where they do not ex-
ist, repentance has not begun to exist. But without repentance
there can be no forgiveness, safety nor hope.
On the other hand, he, who entertains such apprehensions con-
cerning himself, has solid reasons to believe, that some good
thing is found in him toward the Lord God of Israel. This
state of mind, which I have described, is in itself good ; and the
foundation of more extensive good. It is to be understood, how-
ever, that mere speculative views are not here intended. It is
essential, that all these things be deeply and ingenuously felt in
the heart, and cheerfully acknowledged ; and that they be so
felt, as to become a living principle of future action.
Secondly, Another things realized by the sinner in this state,
is, that in the house of his heavenly Father there is an abundance
of good.
" How many hired servants in my father's house," said the
prodigal, " have bread enough, and to spare !" There is enough
and more than enough, for all who dwell in that happy mansion.
The plenty, which abounded here, was exactly fitted to supply
80 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. V.
the necessities of this famishing wretch. He was perishing with
hunger. In his father's house there was bread ; not husks ; but
the food which would satisfy hunger, and preserve hfe.
In the house of our Heavenly Father good abounds, which is
exactly fitted to supply the wants of perishing sinners. The
soul needs sustenance equally with the body ; and for the want
of it will be famished. The food, on which alone it can be sus-
tained, is the living bread, ichich came down from heaven,, and the
water, which is given by Christ. " He, who drinketh of the wa-
ter, which Christ gives, shall never thirst ; he, who eateth of
this bread, shall live forever." In this divine mansion the bread
of life is found. There flows the pure river of the water of life.
On its banks ascends " the tree of life ; which bears twelve man-
ner of fruits, and yields its fruits every month." Those, who are
admitted into this happy place, " hunger no more, neither thirst
any more, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. But
the Lamb shall feed them, and lead them unto living fountains of
waters : and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes."
The enjoyments, yielded by this delightful place, are the prop-
er food of a rational, immortal mind ; and entirely suited to the
demands of its original, exalted nature. They are pure, sub-
lime, eternal, and ever increasing ; fullness of joy, and pleasures
forever more.
For this good, we are here taught, the sinner has in this situa-
tion begun to entertain a relish. The prodigal no longer '• would
fain fill his belly with the husks, which the swine did eat." His
palate began to relish the bread of his father's house ; and turn-
ed a longing eye toward the solid sustenance, which was there
so amply furnished. The sinner, in the case supposed, begins to
hunger and thirst after 7'ighteousness.
Thirdly, The sijiner in this situation begins, also, to cherish a
realizing hope that this good may be his.
Such a hope the prodigal plainly cherished. The remem-
brance, that even the hired servants in his father's house had
bread enough and to spare, was accompanied with a prevailing
hope, that upon his return the same blessing would be imparted
SER. v.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 81
to him. Accordingly, he determines immediately to arise, and
go to his father. Without such a hope he would have continued
where he was ; and perished on the spot.
The promises of the Gospel contain and proffer to returning
sinners, all the blessings which they need. In this situation the
sinner begins to make the case his own ; and to hope, and in
some degree to believe, that these promises are addressed to him.
His hopes are well founded and Evangelical. The promises of
the Gospel are directed to just such persons as he is. They
were intended to encourage, allure, and support, sinners in this
very situation ; to keep them from despair ; and to stregthen and
uphold them in the mighty concern of turning to God. Every
such sinner will find every such promise fulfilled to himself. '
Thus have I followed the progress of a sinner through the sev-
eral stages of his corruption and ruin, to the commencement of
his return to God ; exhibited, in so interesting a manner, in this
most instructive and beautiful parable. I will now conclude the
discourse with a single Remark. It is this. How happily adap-
ted is the salvation of the Gospel to the circumstances of sinners.
Had this salvation not been ofiered freely, it would have been
offered in vain. We owe ten thousand talents, and have nothing
to pay. Unless therefore, the debt be forgiven ; we must be
sent to the prison of punishment. But this forgiveness is in its
nature free and sovereign.
In plainer language, we are sinners, have broken the law of
God, and are rebels against his government. But the Law, of
which not a single ^*o« or tittle can possibly /aiZ, has said, "The
soul, that sinneth, shall die ;" and " Cursed is every one, who
continueth not in all things, written in the book of the law, to do
them." Every sinner, therefore, is absolutely condemned by this
most holy law ; and, if left to himself, must perish.
In this miserable situation, Christ with wonderful love, with di-
vine compassion, has interposed on behalf of our race ; made an
end of sin ; " finished transgression ; made reconciliation for
iniquity ; and brought in everlasting righteousness." The ex-
piation, which he has accomplished, may become ours by faith
82 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. V.
in him, and repentance towards God. Thus we are introduced
to the glorious hope of immortal life ; and are called upon by a
voice from heaven to return, repent and hve. Here every rea-
son is furnished for comfort which in such a state can exist ; eve-
ry reason to bless God ; every inducement to seek salvation.
But no hope is here presented to him, who is quiet in his sins,
and satisfied with his own righteousness. He is the prodigal in
the text, in his most forlorn situation. He may be, and often is,
not less at his ease ; not less gay ; not less riotous ; not less un-
conscious of his situation. He may say, as others before him
have said, " I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need
of nothing." Still he is not the less wretched, and miserable,
and in want of all things. All within him is beggary ; all with-
out is famine. His only food is husks, and his only destiny, to
perish with hunger; and that while "bread enough, and to spare,"
is prepared for his enjoyment, and ready for his acceptance. God
is waiting to be gracious to him. Christ holds out to him the
bread of life. Heaven opens its gates for his reception. Angels
are prepared to welcome the forsaken wanderer to its immortal
blessings ; and saints, to see him added to their number, increa-
sing their happiness, and mingling in their praise ; while he, poor,
starving, famishing wretch, clings to his misery ; hugs his ruin ;
and, wiser in his own eyes than the God who made him, glories
in the wisdom which plans and executes the eternal destruction
of his soul.
SERMON VI.
THE PRODIGAL SON.— Sermon II.
Luke xv. 18 — 24.
/ will arise, and go to my father ; and will say unto him, ^'•Fa-
ther I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee.
And am no more worthy to he called thy son : make me as one of
thy hired servants.''''
And he arose, and cam^e to his father. But, when he was yet
a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran,
and fell on his neck, and kissed him.
And the son said unto him, " Father, I have sinned against
Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to he called
thy son.''''
But the father said to his servants, ^'- Bring forth the hest robe,
and put it on him ; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on
his feet ;
And bring hither the fatted calf, and, kill it ; and let us eat,
and he merry :
For this my son was dead, and is alive again ; he was lost,
and is found.'''
. In the preceding discourse from the former part of this para-
ble, after explaining its general nature, I observed, that we were
taught by it the following doctrines.
1 St. Sinners regard God no farther than to gain from him
whatever they can.
2nd. Sinners waste the blessings, which they receive from his
hands, and reduce themselves to absolute want.
3rd. Afflictions are very often the first means of bringing them
to a sense of their condition.
84 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. Vt.
4th. When they Jirst acquire this sense, they usually betake
themselves to false measures for relief.
5th. This situation of a sinner is eminently unhappy.
6th. The repentance of the Gospel is the resumption of a
right nimd.
Under this head I observed, that among the things which the
sinner reaHzes, when he first comes to himself, are the following.
First, His own miserable condition :
Secondly, That in the house of his Heavenly Father there is
an abundance of good :
Thirdly, A hope, that this good may be his.
I shall now proceed in the consideration of the progress of a
sinner towards his final acceptance with God, as it is exhibited in
the text. With this design, I observe
1st. True repentance is a voluntary exercise of the mind..
" I will arise," said the prodigal, " and go to my father."
The determination expressed in this language, was spontane-
ous ; and flowed from the present state of his heart as naturally,
as any effect from any cause : for example, as his former deter-
mination tg leave his father, flowed from the disposition, which he
possessed at that time.
There are those, who believe that God creates, immediately,
all the volitions of the mind. There are others, who reject this
doctrine, and who nevertheless appear at least to admit, that he
creates all its virtuous volitions. Both are, in my view, erroneous.
The Scriptures appear to me every where to speak of man as an
agent, in the true and proper sense. When angels were created ;
they were furnished with all the powers of such an agent, and
with a disposition, propensity, (or what in the Scriptures is called
heart,) to use them in a virtuous manner. Such a disposition is
communicated to the human soul, by the Holy Ghost, when it is
renewed unto repentance. This disposition ; unknown, I confess,
and mysterious, in the metaphysical sense, as all other causes are
as to their nature, but by its effects as clearly proved to exist, as
any other cause whatever ; is the real source of all virtuous voli-
tions and conduct, in every virtuous being. It now became the
SER. VI.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 85
disposition of the prodigal ; and is the distinguishing characteris-
tic of every penitent. His determination to arise, and go to his
father, sprang from a solid conviction of the propriety of this
conduct, and a real change in his disposition : a complete persua-
sion, that it was alike his duty and his interest. The state of his
mind was new ; but its agency was entire, and its actions per-
fectly voluntary. The determination was freely and cheerfully
made ; and made at all hazards ; without even the knowledge,
that he would be accepted. It was, therefore, certainly sincere.
This is an e.xact description of the state of mind, which pre-
vails in every penitent. A sense of danger and of suffering, as
was remarked in the former discourse, is very often employed by
God as a mean of bringing a sinner to repentance. But, were
the sinner to stop here, he never would become a penitent. To
this sense must be added, a realizing conviction of the evil nature
of his past conduct, felt in such a manner, as to make it exceed-
ingly desirable in the sinner's view to forsake his former, guilty,
pursuits, and renounce his former, sinful character.
2dly. True repentance is a filial temper ; disposing us to regard
God as our parent^ and ourselves as his children.
" I will arise, and go to my father."
Originally the prodigal used this compellation with a design to
obtain the portion of goods, which, as he said, fell to him, and
then to separate himself from him forever. Now he adopted the
same language with the proper temper of a child. Now he de-
signs to return to him ; and, if it may be permitted, to live with
him, to honour him, to love him, and to serve him even in the
humble station of a hireling.
Such is the spirit of the penitent. Willing as he was in his
former state of sin to forget God, and little as he thought of his
character, of his presence, or even of his existence ; rarely as he
felt a sense of duty, or reahzed that there was any relation or
connection, between himself and his Maker ; he now remembers
all these things with delight, and esteems them his only honour,
comfort, and hope.
Vol. II. 12
86 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. Vi.
This is infinitely the most important relation, which intelUgent
creatures can sustain. To be the child of God ; to have him for
our Father, Redeemer, and Sanctifier ; is to be blessed indeed.
What creature would dare, unless expressly permitted by his Cre-
ator, to challenge this relation, and adopt this language ? How
much less would sinners, if possessed of sober thought, presume,
without a direct license from heaven, to change the awful name
Creator for the venerable, endearing, and delightful epithet of
Father ; or to convert the humble title of creature, into the eleva-
ted appellation of child ? Who, of a servant, of a slothful ser-
vant, a rebellious servant, would expect to become an heir ; to be
acknowledged as a child ; and to be put in possession of the in-
heritance which is undejiled, and fadeth not away ? Yet this is
the language, which we are commanded to adopt ; this the char-
acter, which we are required to assume ; and these the blessings,
which we are destined to enjoy ; whenever we become the sub-
jects of a penitent spirit.
3dly. True repentance is followed of course hy the confession
of sin.
" Father, I have sinned," was the language of the penitent
prodigal. He was ready of himself; while yet unassured of ac-
ceptance, and before his parent had demanded such an acknowl-
edgment. It was the spontaneous dictate, the instinctive lan-
guage, of his heart ; produced as naturally by his present dispo-
sition, as the fruit springs from its native tree.
This, also, is the conduct of every penitent. While his ori-
ginal spirit remained ; while he was stout hearted, and therefore
far from righteousness ; nothing was farther from his thoughts,
than a confession of his guilt. But whenever he becomes the
subject of evangelical contrition, he hates the sin which he so
intensely loved before and abhors himself for having committed
it ; sorrows for that, in which he delighted, and is deeply asham-
ed for that, in which he gloried. This sense of his guilt is a bur-
den upon his heart, with which he labours, and is heavy laden ;
and to confess it to God is the first method of lightening the bur-
den. At the same time, it is the most natural, the most obvious,
SER. VI.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 87
and therefore the first, mode of endeavouring to make some
amends for the injustice which he has done to his Maker. In
addition to this, he is, also, earnestly desirous to declare solemn-
ly the new views which he entertains concerning his conduct ;
the change, which his disposition has undergone ; and the de-
terminations, which he has formed to obey hereafter. A prime
difference between the true and false penitent lies in this : the
false penitent hates the confession, and loves the sin : the true
penitent hates the sin, and loves the confession.
4thly. A real penitent feels, that all his sins are committed
against God.
" I have sinned against Heaven."
The crime of the prodigal was immediately committed against
his earthly parent ; yet, we see, he felt it to have been supreme-
ly committed against Heaven. Accordingly, his confession is,
" I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee." The consid-
eration, that he had sinned against God, was that, which plainly
distressed him more than any other. Sinners, during their im-
penitence, have very commonly most erroneous apprehensions
concerning this subject. Some of them feel, as if their sins were
never committed against God, because they are unable to do
him any harm ; because they cannot lessen his glory or happi-
ness nor prevent the accomplishment of his designs. Were this
opinion just ; all the guilt of man would lie in the power to do
evil, and not in the inclination. Others suppose sins against God
to be only those, which are directed to him immediately ; such
as blasphemy ; perjury ; profaneness, and other exertions of im-
piety. Those, directed immediately to men, they consider as
sins against men only ; not remembering, that God has forbidden
trangressions of this sort equally with such as respect himself;
and that, therefore, his law is violated in the one case in the
same manner as in the other.
That these views are false and groundless, can hardly need
proof. The divine law is that, which is broken in all sin ; and
God is the Being, who is supremely offended. In this fact con-
sists the heinousness of sin, wherever it exists. It is true, that
88
THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. VI.
in the crimes which immediately respect men, we sin against
them also, and equally true, that even then our principal guilt hes
in sinning against God.
In this manner all good men have regarded their own trans-
gressions. In this manner David regarded his crime against
Uriah ; whom yet he had uijured in a most shameful and abomi-
nable manner. In the 5 1 st Psalm, referring to this transaction, he
says, " Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this
evil in thy sight." With the same views, Joseph, when solicited
by Potiphar's wife, replied, " How can I do this great wicked-
ness, and sin against God ?" The crime, if it had been perpetra-
ted, would have been committed immediately against his Master.
Yet Joseph dreaded it supremely, as an offence against his Ma-
ker. Such, everywhere, are the views of penitence and piety.
Hence it is evident, that he, who refers his sins principally to
men ; even those which are committed immediately against
them ; who feels regret, when they are offended, and is at ease
when they forgive ; whose conscience looks not beyond the im-
mediate objects of his crimes, and is unsolicitous about the evil,
which he has done against God ; is destitute of the repentance
of the Gospel.
5thly. A real penitent is of course hnmhle.
" Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee ; and
am no more worthy to be called thy son. Make me as one of
thy hired servants."
Sin is the most disgraceful character in the Universe ; the
most odious, debasing, and unworthy. In better language, it is
the only debasement, and the only disgrace. When the sinner
comes to himself, and begins to see things as they are ; he per-
ceives this truth, among many others, in a clear and convincing
light. Then there is no character too humble for him to assume;
no station too lowly for him to take. " I have heard of thee,"
said Job to his Maker, " by the hearing of the ear ; but now
mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in
dust and ashes." " But we are all," says the church in Isaiah Ixiv,
" as an unclean thing : and our righteousnesses are as filthy rags :
SER. VI.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 89
and we all do fade, as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind,
have taken us away." " This is a faithful saying," said St. Paul
to Timothy^ " that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sin-
ners; of whom I am chief." And again, " I am the least of the
Apostles, and am not worthy to be called an Apostle." " I am a
worm," said David, " and no man ; a reproach of men, and
despised of the people. Mine iniquities are gone over my head,
as an heavy burden : they are too heavy for me." In this man-
ner have all the sacred writers felt and spoken, whenever the
subject has been brought up to view : and in this manner has
every penitent felt and spoken, from the begining of time. Eve-
ry penitent knows, that he has been an apostate ; and that, there-
fore, he is odious, debased, and polluted, in the sight of his Ma-
ker ; that he has nothing of his own ; and that he can claim
nothing at the hand of God. If he is forgiven ; if he is sancti-
fied ; if he is adopted ; if he escapes perdition ; if he has a sin-
gle hope, a virtuous affection, or a good thought : all these are
mere gifts from the free sovereign love of God. When, there-
fore, he considers either what he was or what he is-, the instinctive
language of his heart will be, " Not unto me, not unto me, but
unto thy name, be the glory."
6thly. A real penitent, brings nothing to God, hut his want^
shame, and sorrow.
The prodigal brought nothing to his father, but his rags, and
wretchedness. He came as a beggar, possessing nothing ; pre-
tending to nothing ; soliciting alm>s ; and asking for a very hum-
ble and menial employment in his father's family.
A sinner, when he returns to God, has in the same manner
nothing which he can offer to his Heavenly Father, beside his
wants and woes, his broken heart and contrite spirit. He has no
works of righteousness to recount ; no merit to present ; and no
claims to allege for acceptance. His hope, therefore, instead of
being placed on himself, rests wholly on his father's sovereign and
undeserved goodness. " By grace are ye saved, through, faith,
and that not of yourselves ; it is the gift of God." This humilia-
ting truth he not only acknowledges, but acknowledges cheer-
fully ; with ardent gratitude ; with high exultation.
90 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SER. VI.
His sense of total want and extreme guilt, is the very cause,
which prompts him to return : and his only address to his Maker
is, " Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee ; and
am no more worthy to be called thy son." A hrohen heart is the
sacrifice, which God accepts through the Redeemer; but he will
accept no other sacrifice. To this man will he look ; even to him,
who is of a humble and contrite spirit ; but he will look to no
other. The hope of obtaining forgiveness by means of our own
righteousness is a direct contradiction to the repentance of the
Gospel ; and is entirely opposed to the Scriptural scheme of com-
ing to God. The prodigal thought it a very great favour to he
made as one of his father^s hired servants ; a favour, to which
he makes not the least claim ; but humbly hopes, that he may
derive it from the bounty of his parent.
7thly. A true penitent executes his resolutions of obedience.
"And he arose, and came to his Father."
The prodigal not only resolved, that he would go, and confess
his sins ; but he actually arose, and went, and confessed.
Sinners, who enjoy the light of the Gospel, usually, perhaps'
universally, with more or less strength, and more or less frequent-
ly, resolve that they will amend their ways and their doings, and
obey the voice of the Lord, their God. In most cases, however,
their resolutions die, as an untimely birth.
Look back at the past state of your own lives. When solemn
occasions have occurred ; when you have heard discourses from
the desk, of a tenour peculiarly affecting ; when you have been
brought by disease near to the grave ; when your companions
have fallen suddenly around you : have not you yourselves been
alarmed on account of your sins ; trembled under a sense of your
danger ; and formed serious resolutions to repent, and turn to
God ? But what has been the effect of these resolutions ? Have
they not been mere blossoms ; which, though fair indeed to the
eye, and promising good fruit, have fallen prematurely, and per-
ished forever ?
Such is not the conduct of a penitent. He resolves, as you
have done ; but never rests, till the object of his resolutions is
accomplished. The purpose of returning to God is the favorite
SER. VI.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 91
concern of his heart ; and becomes, therefore, the prime business
of his hfe. Without it he considers himself as undone. His
present condition is full of alarm, and distress ; and his destiny is
absolute ruin. Whatever, therefore, can consist with his continu-
ance in sin he regards as vain, useless, dangerous, and dreadful ;
and, however soothing, quieting, and comforting, as an opiate
which will bring on the sleep of death.
At the same time he considers a reconciliation to God, the for-
giveness of his sins, his justification, adoption, and sanctification,
as the best of all blessings ; as the sources of all real worth, and the
basis of all well founded hope. Without them he can neither be
approved by himself, nor loved by God ; neither comfortable here,
nor happy hereafter. With these views, it cannot be wondered at,
that he should never rest, until he has renounced his sins, confess-
ed them to his Maker, and commenced a life of new and faithful
obedience.
8thly. God is entirely disposed to receive the sincere penitent.
" But, when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him,
and had compassion ; and ran, and fell on his neck, and kiss-
ed him."
Never was a spirit of tenderness, and reconciliation, exhibi-
ted with equal force and beauty. The moment, he saw him, his
compassion was kindled. Instead of waiting to permit the un-
grateful wretch to come, and propose terms of reconciliation,
he ran immediately to him. Instead of reproaching, or even
reproving, him for his filial impiety ; instead of upbraiding him
for his profligacy ; instead of reminding him of his folly, and of
its miserable consequences ; instead of delaying, to hear his ex-
cuses for the transgressions of his past life, or his promises of
amendment for the future : he fell upon his neck, and kissed him.
Nor was even this all. He interrupted the very confession,which
his miserable son had begun to make. And how did he interrupt
it? Not with reproofs; not even with a welcome. The deplorable
condition, the famished frame, the meagre countenance, the hag-
gard eyes, the quivering voice, of the perishing suppliant would
not admit, in the mind of such a parent of a protracting thought,
which might prevent the necessary relief from being immediate.
92 THE PRODIGAL SO^. [SER. VI.
He, therefore, ordered his servants to furnish in an instant, the
means of comfort, which he felt to be so afiectingly demanded:
and these were such, as to place his father's willingness to receive
him beyond the doubts even of scepticism itself.
All these, it is to be remembered, are the language of Christ
himself; who certainly knew the real disposition of God towards
returning sinners : and surely he, who laid down his life, that sin-
ners might return, cannot be supposed to have deceived them of
design. God is, therefore, just as kindly disposed, as in this par-
able he is represented to be. The calls, mvitations, and promi-
ses, which he has given us in the Gospel, mean the utmost of
what they express ; and God is as earnestly desirous, that sin-
ners sliould return to him, and as much pleased when they ac-
tually return, as the strongest language of the Gospel declares.
He is long suffering to us-ward ; not willing^ that any should
perish^ hut that they shoidd come to repentance, " Have I any
pleasure at all, that the wicked should die," saith the Lord God,
" and not that he should return from his ways, and live ? There-
fore, O Son of man, speak unto the house of Israel," Thus ye
speak, " If our transgressions, and our sins, be upon us, and we
pine away in them ; how shall we then hve ?" Say unto them,
" As I live, saiih the Lord God, 1 have no pleasure in the death
of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way, and live.
Turn ye, turn ye, from your evil ways ; for why will ye die, O
house of Israel ?"
But the proof, which is better fitted to affect the mind, than
any other, with strong conviction of this great truth, is found in
the wonderful things, which have been done for the salvation of
sinners. If God was reluctant to save sinners ; if he was indif-
ferent concerning their salvation ; if he was not earnestly desi-
rous, that they should be saved : why did he send his Son to die
for them, and his spirit to sanctify them ? Why did Christ live a
life of poverty, persecution, and sorrow ? Why did he agonize in
the garden ^ ascend the cross ; and go down into the grave ?
Why was the Word of God published to mankind ? Why was
the Sabbath sequestered; but that mankind might enjoy a peace-
nl, happy, heavenly season for the attainment of endless life ?
SEE. VI.] THE PRODIGAL SON. 93
Why were the doors of the Sanctuary opened f but that we
might enter in, and he saved. Why were these solemn ordinan-
ces estabHshed ; and ministers commissioned to teach all nations
the Gospel of grace, and to baptize them into the Name of the
Father, and of the So.n, and of the Holy Ghost ? Why are you,
week by week, summoned on this solemn day, and in this holy
place, to repentance an'd faith in the Lord Jesus. Certainly, if
God had been pleased that sinners should perish, they might
have perished without these wonderful efforts for their salvation.
Nay they would have perished of course : and you would have
perished among them. Not an effort would you have made for
your salvation ; not a hope would you have entertained ; but for
this compassionate interference of your Maker.
The very threatenings of the Gospel are a proof of his earn-
est desire, that you should obtain eternal life. They compel, as
the promises allure, you to the divine attainment ; and, laying
hold on the strongest principles of action, rouse your fears, where
your attachments and your hopes would have slept over the
burnings of devouring fire. Remember that all the evils, which
these threatenings denounce, might with perfect ease have been
executed to the full ; without a single warning given to you, that
you were even in danger. Why, then, were you warned to flee
from the wrath to come, but that you might lay hold on eter-
nal life ?
These tidings are the best which were ever published in this
melancholy world. They have astonished heaven ; and ought
to awaken an universal transport upon earth. They are tidings
cordially announced. The good, which they convey, is real, and
may be yours. Renounce your unbelief. It is your ruin. Re-
member, and believe while you remember, that, at the first indi-
cation of your willingness to return, God is ready to meet you^
while a great way off; and will freely pardon, justify, and ac-
cept you, will leceive you to himself, and give you the blessings
of a glorious immortality.
9thly. The richest provision is made for the enjoyment of the
sincere penitent.
Vol. II. 13
94 THE PRODIGAL SON. [SEE. VI
" But the Father said to the servants, ' Bring forth the best
robe, a'tid put it on him ; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes
on his feet ; and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it.' "
All these are the entertainment of him, whose utmost hope
was to have been made as one of his father'' s hired servants^
and who doubted whether even this boon might be granted.
What a contrast is here presented to the rags, hunger, and shame,
of the miserable beggar upon whom they were bestowed ?
All these are the strongest proofs of kindness in earthly pa-
rents ; and are of course the most proper symbols of the kind-
ness with which onr Father who is in Heaven^ receives his peni-
tent children. At the same time, they are forcible proofs that
they are in want of all necessary good. The robe, the ring, the
shoes, and the fatted calf, are gifts to him who has neither orna-
ments, nor necessaries ; who is hungry, naked, and in want of
all things.
The very best gifts in the divine kingdom will be bestowed on
the returning sinner ; the forgiveness of his sins ; the justifica-
tion, and adoption, of his person, the sanctification of his soul ;
direction, support, and comfort in his way to endless life ; ad-
mission into heaven, the sight of God ; the supreme love of his
character ; the knowledge of his dispensations ; the enjoyment
of his favour ; and the friendship of his glorious family. These
are blessings, for which the Universe would be a cheap price ;
and which all its inhabitants would be unable to purchase.
lOthly. Titer e is peculiar joy in Heaven over the repentance
of returning sinners.
" Let us eat, and be merry ; for this my son was dead, and is
alive again ; he was lost, and is found."
" There is joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more
than over ninety and nine just persons who need no repentance."
Feasting, music, and dancing, the highest testimonies of earthly
pleasure, welcomed the prodigal to his Father's house; and were
chosen by our Saviour, to exhibit the feelings excited in the
Heavenly world by the return of the spiritual prodigal. This
truth, may indeed, be considered as the burden or moral of the
whole parable ; as it is expressly, of the two, which immediately
SER. VI.j THE PRODIGAL SON. 95
precede it. The work of redemption is exhibited in the Scrip-
tures as the greatest and most signal work of God ; as the prime
object of his creation, and providence ; and as the chief mfeans
of manifesting his wisdom to principalities and pouwrs in Jieav-
enly places. That these illustrious beings should rejoice with
peculiar joy in a work, which sustains all these characters, is to
be beheved of course.
At the same time, the nature of the case itself furnishes the
most solid foundation for intense and peculiar joy. The soul is
of infinite value. In this case, it has been lost to the Universe.
Now it is found again. It has been dead in trespasses and sin.
Now it is quickened with the principles of immortal life. An-
other trophy is added to the victories of Christ ; another gem,
to his crown of glory. A deathless mind has secured a title to
the never ending happiness of heaven. A new and eternal in-
habitant is introduced into that happy world. The glory of Je-
hovah is seen, and will forever be seen, with new splendour :
and a new theme of transport is added to the everlasting song
" Unto Him, that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his
own blood, and hath made us kings, and priests, unto God, even
his father ; to Him be glory, and dominion, forever and ever. —
Amen,"
REMARK.
What inducements are here presented to sinners^ to return
to God ?
The Scriptures invite, entreat and command you to forsake
your sins and become reconciled to your Maker. How affecting
is the manner in which all this is done ! Do you need conviction
of your necessities, your guilt, and the wretchedness of your
present condition? How strongly have they painted it to your
eyes? How truly? With what irresistible proof ! How plainly
is the story of the prodigal your own story ! Like him you have
been furnished by your Heavenly Father with many, and those
the most valuable, powers, enjoyments and blessmgs, in them-
selves ; and when used aright, the effectual means of glorious
9G THE PlRODIGAL SON. [SER. VL
and immortal good. But your privileges you have prostituted ;
your blessings you have wasted on objects which were of no solid
or enduring value.
Your situation is that of the prodigal. In a far country, remo-
ved from God, his house, and his family, you are voluntary exiles
from your friends, and your home ; are alone ; friendless ; in
want ; and in rags ; and are enlisted in the service of Satan, of
sm, and of evil men ; not one of whom has any real good to give,
or, if he had, would give it to you. All are in the same desolate
and barren region ; are themselves perishing with famine ; and
are destitute of friendship to you, and to each other.
In this forlorn situation, if ever you open your eyes, and look
around ; you will see neither comfort, nor hope, to vary the eter-
nal prospect of want, shame, and woe.
Is it not then infinitely desirable to know, that you have a
home to which you may go : plenty to which you may betake
yourselves; friends from whom you may derive kindness and
consolation ; and a father yet remaining, who, though so long
forsaken, is still willing to acknowledge this relation to you? In
his tenderness you may find an asylum ; to his arms you may be
welcomed ; in his house you may find an everlasting residence.
There all good things abound, are treasured up, and bestowed
with unwearied, as well as unlimited, bounty.
Behold that father advancing to meet you on your way ! Hear
him calling to you with infinite compassion. Ho ! thou starving,
perishing prodigal. Return to me, and to mine. Art thou hun-
gry? I will feed thee with living bread. Art thou thirsty ? I will
lead thee to fountains of living waters. Art thou naked ? I will
clothe thee with the robe of righteousness. Art thou weary ? I
will guide thee to eternal rest. Art thou friendless? I will be to
thee a Father, and an everlasting friend. Dead, thou shalt live
again. Lost, I will restore thee to a Universe of joy. Come; all
things are ready. See, heaven is opened. Behold angels^ and
the spirits of jvst men made perfect, waiting for thy arrival ! See
the golden sceptre of forgiveness extended before thee ! Ap-
proach, and touch, and live forever.
SERMON VII.
THOSE WHO BELIEVE NOT THE SCRIPTURES, WOULD NOT BE
PERSUADED, THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD.
-*=—©—<=-
Luke xvi. 31.
And he said unto hhn, " If they hear not Moses, and the proph-
ets^ neither will they he persuaded though one rose from the dead.'''
These words are the close of the parable, uttered by our Sav-
iour concerning the Rich man and Lazarus. The rich man had
solicited of Abraham, that Lazarus might come to his relief, in
the place where he was tormented. When he found this request
could not be granted ; he besought Abraham, that he would send
Lazarus to his father's house : " for, said he, I have five brethren ;
that he may testify unto them lest they, also, come into this place
of torment." Abraham replied, " They have Moses, and the
prophets : let them hear them." And he said, " Nay, Father
Abraham : but, if one went unto them from the dead, they will
repent." Abraham replied, " If they hear not Moses and the
prophets ; neither will they be persuaded though ©ne rose from
the dead." This, certainly, is a very strong assertion. Multi-
tudes have probably discredited the truth of it without hesitation.
Others have undoubtedly thought it a hard saying : and others
still, unwilling to treat the Scriptures with irreverence, have in-
deed admitted it to be true, but in a manner, which they did not
perceive ; and were ready to suppose, that they could not com-
prehend it.
As all Scripture is given by inspiration of God ; it must all
be true, whether believed by us, or not ; or, if believed, whether
the manner, in which it is true, be understood by us, or not.
Still it is always desirable to know the manner, in which any
93 UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. VIL
thing is true, so far as we may. There are many mysterious
truths, which we are necessitated to beheve by the soundest
philosophy ; and many others, which we are required to admit,
implicitly, by the authority of God. Yet it is our duty to under-
stand, wherever we can, not only the truth itself, but the ev-
idence also, by which it is supported. Wherever this can be
done to our own satisfaction, it will enable us, often, to confute
gainsayers ; to remove plausible objections against the Word of
God ; and to convince those, who are not unwilling to be con-
vinced.
In the text it is declared, that those, wiio believe not Moses
and the prophets ; or the Scriptures of the Old Testament ;
would not be persuaded to repentance and reformation, although
one should rise from the dead, and testify the indispensable im-
portance, and supreme necessity, of both. The Scriptures of
the New Testament were at that time not written. This ap-
peal, therefore, could not be made to them. As it stands in the
text, 1 believe it to be exactly true. Still, I shall extend it in the
following discourse to the whole Sacred Canon ; because our
own concern with the doctrine lies in applying it to both Testa-
ments united. To a Jew the words of Christ, here put into the
mouth of Abraha?)i, were addressed with absolute propriety, and
irresistible force. To us the case scarcely becomes a practical
one, without involving in the doctrine the whole body of Rev-
elation.
In canvassing this subject at the present time, I will,
I. Consider the evidence of Divine Truths presented by one,
jnsenfrom the dead.
II. / will examine the evidence of the same truth, furnished hy
the Scriptures ; and the advantages of that evidence for convin-
cing and iiersuading the mind.
III. / shall attempt to shoio, that the doctrine, illustrated hy
this comparison, is true.
I. / shall consider the evidence of Divine Truth, presented
hy a person, risen from the dead, and its probable effects upon
mankind.
SER. VII.] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. 99
Here it will be necessary to confine the case to such, as actu-
ally saw, and conversed with the person who had risen. This
plainly, is the very case, supposed in the text. The Rich man
washes, that Lazarus may be sent in person to hi,s brethren. It
is to this request, that the answer of Abraham is directed : and
this is the case, included in the declaration, which is now the
subject of enquiry. A person, whom we saw rising from the
dead would affect us deeply, A person, of whose resurrection
we had only heard, would comparatively affect us very little.
Our inquiries, therefore, ought to be confined to the former of
these cases, if we would even appear to do justice to the subject.
With this scheme of investigation before me, I proceed to ob-
serve,
Istly. That the imvressions^ made by One who was seen to 7'ise
from the grave, and gave to the Spectators his testimony concern-
ing a future state, would undoubtedly be great and solemn.
This truth is enforced upon the conviction of every man by
the mere impulse of his own feelings. We see all men listen ;
nay, we ourselves have often listened ; to ,stories concerning the
appearance of the inhabitants of the invisible world, with an at-
tention singular, and with emotions appalling the imagination,
and engrossing the heart. A person, known to have come from
that world ; a person, seen to. ascend from the grave; would,
therefore, exceedingly engross and alarm the minds of men.
The apprehension, that he had come from the unknown, unvisi-
ted region, to which the soul is summoned, when it bids adieu to
the body ; that he dwelt there, and knew whatever existed, or
was transacted, there ; would "be among the most solemn of all
apprehensions. Whatever he said, he would be justly consider-
ed as speaking from his own experience. He would be regarded
as uttering, not doctrines, but facts. His discourses would not
be cold dissertations concerning abstract subjects, apt in their
nature to be uninteresting, and addressed only to the intellect ;
but histories of events, which had actually taken place, and
brought directly home to the soul. The miseries which he had
suffered, or the happiness which he had enjoyed, would flow from
100 UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. Vlf.
his tongue in the Hving language of the heart. His views would
be the sun-bright views of experience. His emotions would be
awakened by intense woe, or kindled by the flame of immortal
life. " His thoughts would breathe : his words would burn."
He, who was not moved by them, would be justly pronounced to
have a heart, formed of the nether mill-stone.
2dly. The evidence^ which would attend every thing said by
such a person^ wotdd be irresistible.
The miracle of his resurrection would furnish unanswerable
proofs, that he was sent by God : evidence, which every man
could understand, and which no man without absolute sottish-
ness could fail to feel. But he, who is sent by God, will, of
course, speak that which is true. Even Balaam hardened as
he was in sin, has taught this truth in the most forcible manner.
" Lo," said he unto Balak, " I am now come unto thee. Have
I now any power at all to say any thing ? The word, that God
putteth into my mouth, that shall I speak. How shall I curse,
whom God hath not cursed ; or how shall I defy, whom Jeho-
vah hath not defied ? Behold, I have received commandment to
bless, and he hath blessed, and I cannot reverse it." As, there-
fore, the mission of this person would be certainly known to be
from God ; whatever he said would be attended with invincible
evidence of its certainty. At the same time, both from the na-
ture of the subjects, concerning which his testimony was given ;
and the high authority of his mission, from the fact that he was
an inhabitant of the eternal world, and from the miracle of his
resurrection ; it would be equally evident, that whatever he said
was of the highest importance to mankind. To those, who
were witnesses of his resurrection, therefore, his whole message
would come, fraught with all the proof which could be desired.
Still I am apprehensive, that his power to persuade men to re-
pentance and reformation would be much less, than at first
thought would be naturally imagined ; and that those, who re-
sist the various appeals of the Scriptures to the conscience and
the heart, would find means, also, of resisting him. To satisfy
ourselves, let us now
SER. VII] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. 101
11. Examine the evidence of Divine Truth, furnished by the
the Scriptures j and the advantages which they possess for con-
vincing, and persuading the mind.
In this examination the
1st Thing that meets us is, that the Scriptures were written
by God ; and were, therefore, written in the best manner, that
was possible, to accomplish their end.
It will, I suppose, be admitted without a question, that the end,
for which the Scriptures were written, is to persuade mankind to
repentance and reformation. Much less can it be questioned,
that the wisdom of God enabled him to discern the best manner
of promoting this end, or that his goodness induced him to adopt
it. The Scriptures, therefore, are actually written in this man-
ner ; and are in the highest degree fitted to effectuate this per-
suasion.
2dly. The things which are communicated in the Scriptures
concerning our future existence, are in their nature the most sol-
emn and itnpressive which can be conceived.
They are such, as God thought it wisest and best to communi-
cate ; and are therefore, certainly, the wisest and best possible.
In their own nature also, and as they appear in themselves to our
eyes, they possess an immeasurable solemnity and importance.
The account which is there given of the judgment, of the final
sentence, and the grounds on which it is uttered, of the glories of
Heaven, and the miseries of Hell, is fraught with an awful and
amazing grandeur, and a superlative interest, which overwhelm
the imagination, and spread far beyond the utmost comprehen-
sion of the understanding. No objects can affect the mind equal-
ly with these ; and no method of communicating them, equally
with that contained in the Scriptures.
A person risen from the dead, might, I acknowledge, disclose
a variety of particulars concerning this subject ; and inform us
of many things, which God has not thought proper to unfold in
the Scriptures. I will readily admit, that in all probability they
would be universally interesting. But, when the Scriptures as-
sert, that they contain all things necessary for life, and for god-
Vol. IL 14
102 UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. Vlf
liness, I cannot admit, that these communications, made by an
inhabitant of the unseen world, would, upon the whole, be profita-
ble to us. The secret things, we are told, belong to God ; but
those things, which are revealed, belong unto us, and to our chil-
dren, forever ; that we may do all the words of his law. The se-
cret things are those, which God has hidden from us, or chosen
not to reveal to us : and these he has kept secret for the same
benevolent purpose, for which he has revealed others : to wit,
that he might enable and incline us to do all the words of his
law. Had more been revealed ; we should be less able and less
inclined to perform this duty, as truly, as if he had revealed few-
er. In other words. Revelation has stopped at the point, which,
if we were competent judges, we should pronounce the best.
The communications, made by a person, risen from the dead ;
those, I mean, of which I have been speaking; would undoubt-
edly gratify in a high degree our curiosity ; and might in an equal
degree affect our hearts. But it can scarcely be doubted, that
they would also awaken in us a thousand perplexities concerning
a state of existence, so little like our own ; and the particulars
of which it must be so difficult to reconcile to our apprehensions
of what is wise and proper, and to explain to our entire satisfac-
tion. That, which was disclosed, would demand another disclo-
sure, to unfold its nature and propriety ; and that, another, and
another, without end. The mysteries even of the present world
are innumerable : and the efforts of Philosophy, after all its la-
bours, have left most of them as it found them. They are mys-
teries still In almost every science we find, after advancing a
little way, scarcely any thing but perplexity, doubt, and despair.
If this is the case in a world, in which we, and those who have
gone before us, have lived so long, and laboured so much ; what
must be the case with regard to the disclosures of a single indi-
vidual concerning the future world ; a world so unlike our own ;
where all must be new, wonderful, and to such beings as we
are chiefly inexplicable ? Information, like this, could scarcely
be favorable to the faith or reformation of mankind.
^ER. VII] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. 103
At the same time, there is no small reason to believe, that such
amazing scenes, as those of futurity, when disclosed by one of
its inhabitants, would in the proper sense, overwhelm our minds;
and leave us utterly unqualified for rational thought, and useful
exertion. When the mind is wrought up to a very high pitch of
feeling ; neither its views, nor its determinations, are usually of
much value. As these things are presented in the Scriptures ;
they are certainly sufficiently awful. Few persons can meet
them with a steady eye, or hear them without a tingling ear. Most
attend to them, only when they are compelled ; and turn away
their attention from them as soon as it is in their power. Upon
the whole, it may well be questioned, whether any thing would
be gained towards the reformation of mankind by a further dis-
closure of these subjects, either more extended, or more minute.
3dly. Beside the things, which a person, risen from the dead,
could unfold, the Scriptures afford many others pre-eminently
important, and affecting.
In the Scriptures we are taught innumerable doctrins concerning
the character, works, and government, of God ; the character,
mission, and mediation, of the Redeemer ; the character, and
offices, of the Holy Spirit ; the ruin and recovery of man, the
renovation of his soul, the justification and adoption of his per-
son, and the purification of his life ; concerning the dangers and
duties, the hopes, comforts, and joys, of the Christian ; his ac-
cess to God by prayer for all blessings ; and the communion
with him, which it is so much the duty and the privilege of the
Christian to maintain. All these doctrines are at once instruc-
tive, endearing, and persuasive ; and have proved the means of
salvation to many a sinner. To these must be added a long train
of precepts and ordinances, naturally conspiring to promote,
and actually promoting, the same important end. All these are
advantages, of pre-eminent consequence towards the accomplish-
ment of this great purpose, which are pecuhar to the Scriptures ;
and could not be challenged by a person, risen from the dead.
4thly. All these things come directly from God himself, and
are invested with his authority.
1(54 UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. VIL
It will not be believed, that a person, risen from the dead,
would, in any sense be an object, equally interesting with our
Maker. Every thing, which is said in the Scriptures, is either
expressly, or imphcitly, prefaced with " Thus saith Jehovah."
God, the Maker, and Disposer, of all beings ; the Giver of life
and death ; the Ruler of Heaven, Earth, and Hell ; the Judge,
and Rewarder, of the good and the evil ; has spoken to us every
thing which is contained in the Scriptures. The Son of God,
the Maker of men, himself the Judge and the Rewarder, actual-
ly spoke in person a great part of the doctrines and precepts
contained in the Scriptures. All the instructions of this wonder-
ful person were fraught with supreme wisdom and goodness ;
were delivered with unrivalled meekness and gentleness, with un-
limited tenderness and condescension ; and were enforced by an
example, of transcendent beauty and glory. Surely, if the char-
acter of the teacher, the spirit displayed in his instructions, and
the manner in which they were delivered, could persuade ; per-
suasion would here be irresistible.
5thly. The Scriptures were attested by miracles, very numer-
ous., and certainly not less solemn, and impressive than the resur-
rection of a man from the dead.
The Scriptures are sustained by a mass of evidence, wonder-
fully various, complicated, and affecting. A great multitude of
its Doctrines and precepts, and all, which we are able to exam-
ine, are seen to he true in their own nature : and these lend a
powerful support to the truth of those, which lie beyond our
reach. History strongly sustains the whole. Another stable
column is furnished to this great building by prophecy. It is also
immoveably cemented, and strengthened, by the Harmony of
its innumerable parts. Its superlative grandeur and sublimity
compel us to refer it to a divine Architect. To the same refer-
ence we are still further directed by the purity of its materials.
The portrait of the Saviour, and even those of his Apostles, and
prophets, which adorn the walls of this magnificent temple, were
also plaiiily drawn by a divine pencil, dipped in the colours of
Heaven.
SER. VII.] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. 105
To all these, and many other, proofs of the divine origin of
the Scriptures, Miracles add their peculiar strength. These as
you know are almost endless in their multitude, and in their na-
ture of supreme force and solemnity. Such are the Deluge ;
the confusion of Languages ; the destruction of Sodoni, ; and
the wonders of Egypt, the Wilderness, and Canaan. Such, al-
so, in an eminent degree were the Miracles wrought by Christ,
and his Apostles.
Of this list not a small number were more solemn and more
affecting, than the resurrection of a man from the dead. Such
was the giving of the law from Mount Sinai ^ the appearance of
the Angels to the Shepherds of Bethlehem ; the descent of the
Spirit, and the voice of God, at the baptism of our Saviour ; and
the awful events, which attended his crucifixion. Not a small
number also were re{)ctitions of the very miracle in question.
Such, particularly, was the resurrection of the children of the
widow of Zarephath and the Shunamite, of the daughter of Jai-
rus, of the son of the widow of Nain, of Lazurus, and of Ta-
hitha. Such in a still more affecting manner was the resurrec-
tion of the numerous saints, whose bodies ascended from the
grave, to glorify him who is the Resurrection and the Life.
Such finally, with a superlative solemnity and force, was the res-
urrection of Christ ; attended by circumstances, awful and sub-
lime without a parallel.
All these miracles, it is to be remembered, were events, ac-
companied with the highest evidence ; were acknowledged with-
out a question by those, who were witnesses of them ; and have
been evinced to be true, beyond every reasonable doubt, to the
minds of those who have lived in succeeding ages ; particularly
of the great body of the wise and good, since the commence-
ment of the Christian era.
Such, summarily, is the evidence of Divine Truth, furnished by
the Scriptures : and such are their advantages for convincing
and persuading the mind. We are now prepared for a fair ex-
amination of the doctrine, declared in the text. I shall, therefore,
III. Attempt to show, that the doctrine is true.
106 UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. VIL
On this subject I observe.
1st. That we ourselves do 7iot, ordinarily^ dispute the truth of
the Scriptural declarations^ nor the sufficiency of the evidence by
ivhich they are supported / and yet are in very few instances per-
suaded to repent.
Neither part of this assertion will be questioned. The num-
ber of Infidels, here, is certainly very small. I am not warranted
to say, that there is one. Comparatively, it is small throughout
this part of our country : yet how few in comparison are the pen-
itents ? Of course, our belief of divine truth has little influence
on our hearts.
2dly. Those, who were witnesses of these very miracles, gen-
erally did not repent. ,
The Jews, who saw the miracles of Christ, retained still their
hardness of heart ; and, although they were so much influenced
by them, as to be wilhng to make him a King, they still preserved
all their sinfulness of character ; and, a short time after, nailed
him to the cross. Even those who saw Lazarus come out of his
grave, in many instances did not believe on him, but went away,
and told the story to the Pharisees. The Pharisees, although in
the Sanhedrim they openly admitted the reality of Lazarus'' res-
urrection and of many other miracles, wrought by Christ, yet,
instead of being persuaded, were only roused to more violent ha-
tred against him ; and immediately took counsel, how they might
put him to death.
We, perhaps, may be ready to believe, and not improbably
may actually believe, that our own hearts may be less hard, and
our eyes less blind. In a qualified sense this may be true. We
may not be, to the full extent, Scribes and Pharisees. Our ob-
stinacy may, perhaps, not rise so high, as that of many other
Jews, who lived at the time of our Saviour. Yet it is hardly
probable, that we possess more candour and moderation, or a
disposition more easily persuaded than many among the numer-
ous thousands, who saw the miracles of Christ and believed him
to be the Messiah. These, nevertheless, did not yield their
hearts to him ; receive him as their Saviour ; nor possess a broken,
and contrite spirit.
SER. VII.] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. 10,
The cities of Capernaum^ Chorazin^ and Bethsaida, often
heard the Saviour preach ; and saw in great numbers his migh-
ty works wrought before their eyes. These cities contained
a multitude of youths, and a multitude of women ; the most
hopeful objects of preaching ; and, if we may judge from facts,
the most susceptible of repentance. Yet we are taught, that
few, even of these, repented. Our Saviour, after all his in-
structions and miracles, was compelled to exclaim, " Woe unto
thee, Capernaum ! Woe unto thee, Chorazin ! Woe unto thee,
Bethsaida !" and to declare, that it would " be more tolerable for
Tyre and Sidon, and even for Sodom and Gomorrah, in the day
of Judgment," than for those cities.
Few of us can pretend to more seriousness, a purer morality,
or greater sweetness of disposition, than the young Ruler ^ who
came to Christ, to know what he should do to gain eternal life.
Yet even he, notwithstanding he believed Christ to have the
words of eternal life, could not be persuaded to obey his voice ;
although Heaven itself would have been his certain reward.
Let us not flatter ourselves, that we have not the same com-
mon character, and that we are not by nature children of diso-
bedience, even as they. The differences between them and us
are merely circumstantial : and even these are not always in our
favour. We as readily, perhaps, and as entirely, acknowledge
the reality of Christ's resurrection. Yet how little are we inter-
ested by this most stupendous of all miracles ? How plainly is
the story of it, when recited either in the word of God, or in the
desk, an idle tale to most of those who hear me ; as it was at
first to the disciples, when told by their female companions to
whom he had re-appeared.
3dly. Among all the persons with whom, while they were anx-
iously solicitous about their salvation, I have had opportunity to
converse, I do not remember even one who ever mentioned his own
indisposition to repent, as in any degree derived from the want of
evidence to support the truth of the Scriptures.
The number of these has been so great, that if this were a
common, or even a frequent, case, some one, and probably ma-
108 UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. VII
ny more, must have been found among them, who had been
embarrassed by this difficulty. At the same time, if the case
had really occurred, it would be hardly possible, that it should
not have been mentioned. Conversation of this nature is ordi-
narily in a pre-eminent degree open, undisguised, and the means
of pouring forth all the heart. It is peculiarly employed, also,
about the past and present state of the mind ; its views, and af-
fections ; its obstructions in the way to faith, repentance, and
holiness ; its errors ; its sins ; and its perplexities. How ob-
viously would such a fact find a place in conversation of such a
nature. Yet, as has been already observed, no such instance is
within my remembrance. It may therefore be concluded with-
out hesitation, that very few, if any, such instances can be found.
With these things in view, we are, I think compelled to admit
the doctrine.
I will now conclude the discourse with a few
REMARKS.
1st. It is manifest from these considerations, that (he reason,
why mankind, do not embrace the Gospel, is not the ivant of
Evidence.
No evidence is more conclusive than that, which is furnished
by miracles. Every man, who does not force himself, into a
state of doubt, believes, and knows, that a miracle is the work of
God only. When performed to prove a declaration, it is with
equal certainty known to be a testimony from God to the truth
of that declaration. The declaration itself is, therefore, true :
and is seen to be true by means of evidence, which cannot be
questioned.
At the same time, a miracle is evidence of the most impres-
sive kind. As it is a fact, it has that peculiar force and vividness,
which always attends the impressions of images made by ob-
jects upon our senses. A miracle is always a fact, also, of im-
portance and solemnity. Beyond this, it is a singular, or at
least a very extraordinary fact. It is therefore accompanied by
SER. VII.] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. 109
all the force, derived from both these considerations. Finally,
a miracle is deeply affecting to all men ; because, as has been ob-
served, it is a testimony from God to the truth of a doctrine, or
to the rectitude and obligation of a precept. Every man knows,
that God will not give his testimony to a doctrine or precept of
little moment, however just and true ; much less to one which is
false. This testimony was never given ; it cannot with decency
be supposed ever to be given ; to a doctrine or precept, which is
not of high importance, and deeply interesting to the government
of God, and the welfare of mankind. At the thought, and much
more at the sight, of such a testimony, therefore, the mind is
awakened, and solemnized, not only into the deepest attention,
but the most profound awe.
All these advantages to produce conviction are eminently at-
tributable to the miracle involved in a resurrection from the dead.
The return of a departed man from the invisible world to those,
with whom he had heretofore lived and conversed, is, and ever
has been, one of the most solemn objects of human contem-
plation. The appearance of departed spirits has in every age,
and in every nation, awakened, in spite of improbability, con-
tempt, and ridicule, vivid and alarming apprehensions in the
great body of our race. Not only has it been felt by those, who
believed it as a fact, but by those also, who have considered it as
a mere dream of imagination. A secret shuddering, an involun-
tary chill, has regularly attended the very thought of such a
scene, when fairly brought home to the mind. What, then,
would be the feelings, were such a man actually to re- appear ;
to converse, to live, for a destined season with his former acquaint-
ance ? What emotions would spring up in the soul, while he
unfolded his own experimental knowledge of the invisible world;
the joys of heaven ; or the sufferings of perdition ? Who would
not run to see this wonderful stranger? Who woul i not eagerly
hsten to his recitals ? Who would not awake, and tremble, and
shudder, at his warnings and exhortations ?
But the text declares, that even the appearance and testimony,
of such a person would not persuade us to believe, and repent :
Vol. II. 15.
no • UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. VIL
and the illustrations, furnished in this discourse, have, if I mis-
take not, proved the declaration to be true. Why should we not
repent? Certainly not because the evidence accompanying his
testimony would be insufficient to command conviction. No ev-
idence could be more complete. Most clearly the difficulty lies
not in the understanding- but in the heart. The disposition is
opposed to the reception of divine truth ; and overcomes all the
dictates of the understandmff. Here lies the great secret. The
heart is opposed to God, to his truth, to conviction, to obedi-
ence. It is easy to prove to any man, who will listen with can-
dour, the truth of the Scriptures ; the desirableness of repent-
ance, faith, and obedience to God ; the importance of renoun-
cing sin, and returning to our duty. But he will not, therefore,
believe, nor repent, nor obey. Convinced as he may be, he will
still continue to sin. It is easy to shew ; indeed, it does not
need to be shev/n ; that it is wise to secure Heaven, amd escape
from Hell. But he, to whom this is shewn, will not therefore
seek Heaven, nor attempt to escape from Hell.
This certainly is a most unhappy trait in the human character.
It is conduct, which is contrary to our boasted reason, our pro-
fessed dignity of nature ; and is plainly inexcusable to our con-
sciences, as well as to God. What can be said in behalf of him,
who knows his duty, and refuses to do it ? What can he say for
himself? What will he say, when he comes before the bar of
his Maker ? How plainly must he be overwhelmed by a convic-
tion of his guilt, which then he will be unable to force away.
But that, of which we shall then be convinced, it cannot but
be wise to feel at the present time. If we would either please
God, or save our own souls ; we ought now to see, and acknowl-
edge with the heart, the obstinacy which we cherish against the
truth and will of God. We ought now to see how foolishly, as
well as how sinfully, we arc resisting our salvation. We have
Moses and the prophets, and Christ and the Apostles. The
brethren of the Rich man had the former only. If they resisted
these, their case was hopeless ; and their souls were undone.
What, then, if we resist both, will be our case ?
SER. VII.] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. HJ
2dly. From these observations it is clear, that no evidence will
persuade a sinful heart.
The Devils, we are told, believe, and tremble. The Rich man,
in the parable, saw with absolute certainty, and saw in his own
experience too, that the impenitent are miserable beyond the
grave. Yet the devils do not repent. The Rich man did not
repent. He hoped, that his brethren would repent, if Lazarus
should be permitted to testify to them the sufferings which he
enriured. But he exhibits not a single hope of his own repent-
ance, although he was now experiencing the very woes con-
cerning which the testimony of Lazarus was to be given.
In the same manner multitudes of mankind in Christian coun-
tries, and among them not a small number in this house, who
acknowledge the Scriptures to be the word of God, and believe,
without a doubt, that all the solemn things, which they contain,
are true, are yet not persuaded.
There is no instance, recorded in the history of man, in which
the heart has yielded itself to the mere influence of truth ; even
of the truth of God ; and become converted, merely because it
was convinced. Sin in its very nature appears to be immoveable
by any effort of the sinner. If I am asked, whether he is not
possessed of physical power to effect this removal ; I answer,
" yes : but he will never exert it in such a manner, as to accom-
plish the end." Man, in my view, has all the physical power,
before, that he has at, or after, his regeneration. The only
change, wrought in him at that time, is in his disposition ; and,
to accomplish this change, something, beside the mere power of
truth and evidence, is indispensable. The grace of God, alone,
the power of the divine Spirit, is the only cause, from which this
wonderful effect can spring ; the only balm for the leprosy of
the heart.
You may, perhaps, ask what, then, is the use of divine Truth ?
What is its efficacy ? What is the value of the means of grace ?
And why do I urge you so earnestly to use them ; and to use
them with all diligence, and anxiety ; for the purpose of attaining
salvation ? To these reasonable questions my answer is ready.
112 UNBELIEVERS WOULD NOT BE PERSUADED, [SER. VIL
This is the way, in which God has thought proper to communi-
cate this blessing ; and unquestionably the way, which is most
wise and proper in itself. He could easily accomplish the whole
work of your regeneration without even a remote reference to
any means whatever. But he has determined otherwise : and
such is the importance of the Scriptures to this mighty concern,
that they are declared, expressly, to be able to make us wise unto
salvation. As he has ordered his providence ; they are abso-
lutely necessary to teach you his character and pleasure ; your
own ruin, and recovery ; the dangers to which you are exposed,
and the way to escape them ; the blessings which you may ac-
quire, and the means by which they may be obtained. Scarcely
less necessary are they to bring you to that soberness of mind,
which is indispensable to thinking usefully on any subjects ; es-
pecially on those, which are involved in Religion ; and to that
solemn concern for your immortal interests, without which you
will not even wish to be saved. The means of grace universally
form, when employed in earnest, a preparation of the man, both
with respect to the understanding and the affections, for the
proper commencement of the agency of the Holy Spirit in re-
newing his heart. This is not a preparation of mej-it but o^ fit-
ness. It involves no desert of this blessing. It infers no obliga-
tion on God to communicate it. But it is the way, which God
in his wisdom and mercy has been pleased to select ; and which
therefore he has been pleased to bless. It would be easy to
shew, that it is both wise and good : but this the time will not
permit ; and on the present occasion it is unnecessary.
Agreeably to these observations, all persons, who are finally
regenerated, date the commencement of seriousness in their
minds, of their conviction of sin, and therefore, of the conver-
sion which followed it ; from something, which is contained in
the Scriptures : some truth ; some precept ; some ordinance ;
some threatening ; some invitation ; some promise. Ask as ma-
ny, as you please ; and you will find, that one dates the com-
mencement of this work in his soul from some passage of Scrip-
ture ; another, from an expression in a prayer, or a psalm ; and
SER. VII.] THOUGH ONE ROSE FROM THE DEAD. 1 1 3
another, from an affecting sermon. One finds it in religious con-
versation ; another, in religious example. One began to be af-
fected by his own sickness, or his recovery ; another, by his ex-
posure to an alarming danger, or his merciful deliverance ; and
another still, by the death of a friend, or some other solemn dis-
pensation of Providence. You will never hear this great event
spoken of, as commencing without something, by which it was
begun : and that something is always divine truth, either brought
to the mind simple and alone, or accompanied with circumstan-
ces, by which it was powerfully impressed. And let it be remem-
bered that all the things, which I have here mentioned, are only
Scriptural truth, presented in various forms, or accompanied by
different means of impressing it powerfully on the heart.
But, were we unable to explain this subject at all, it would be
sufficient to recur to the mere state of facts, to recommend it
in the strongest manner to the attention of mankind. It is cer-
tainly enough for us, that all, who are saved, are saved in this
manner.
Flatter not yourselves, then, that your hearts will ever be chan-
ged by the mere force of evidence ; nor that you can ever be re-
newed, but by the grace of God, and the agency of his Spirit ;
nor that you have a rational hope of salvation, without an earnest,
anxious, use of the means of grace ; nor that in such an use of
these means you can merit salvation ; nor that God is under any
obligation to save you ; nor that you are in any sense safe, until
you shall have been created anew by the power of the divine
Spirit. Leave these dreams to those, who are willing to spend
life in dreaming. But do you in the mean time rejoice, that there
is a divine Spirit to renew you ; and that there are means, by
which multitudes have been conducted to this renovation. Lay
hold on them with all your hearts : and, while you follow the glo-
rious company, who in the use of them have been divinely blessed,
may you find the same blessing in this world, and the innumer-
able and immortal, blessings* which flow from it in the world to
come f
SERMON VIII.
ON SLOTH.
Proverbs xxiv. 30 — 32.
1 went by the field of the slothful^ and by the vineyard of the
man void of understanding :
And lo, it was all grown over with thorns ! and nettles had cov-
ered the face thereof: and the stone-wall thereof ivas broken down.
Then I saw, and considered it well. Hooked upon it j and re-
ceived instruction.
No writer in the Scriptures has given us so many lessons on the
subject of sloth^ as Solomon ; and on no subject has he exhibited
more pungent phraseology, or striking imagery. There is a pith-
iness, a vigour of thought, and a strength of expression, in the
compositions of this great man, which are singular ; and which
are all exhibited in the most vivid manner in his observations
concerning sloth. This fact is a forcible proof of his superiour
wisdom ; and might be fairly expected from the distinguished de-
gree, in which he possessed this attribute.
The text is a beautiful specimen of this nature. " I went by
the field of the slothful, and by the vineyard of the man, void of
understanding : And lo, it was all grown over with thorns ! and
nettles covered the face thereof: and the stone- wall thereof was
broken down."
Fields and vineyards, where vineyards exist, have ever been the
,chief objects of human cultivation. Both are destined not only
to supply important necessaries of life, but to furnish man with
those supplies of food, and drink, and with many of those objects
of mental taste, which have always been regarded by mankind as
eminently delightful. In truth, these, together with gardens,
SER. VIII.] ON SLOTH. 1 15
have been in all ages primary objects of secular attention to the
great body of tiie human race, in every country where the soil
and climate would admit an employment of this nature. A gar-
den was assigned to our first parents, as the place of their abode
in a state of innocence. Adam was the first husbandman ; and
Eden was the first scene of agriculture. When, therefore, fields
and vineyards are neglected by the proprietor ; we may easily
believe, that all other objects of his industry will be forgotten :
for here very obviously lies his chief secular interest ; and here
might plainly and easily be found his first pleasure.
But the field and the vineyard were not merely neglected.
They were forgotten ; and had long been forgotten. Tliey were
all grown over with thorns ; and nettles had covered their surface :
the stone-wall with which the vineyard had been formerly enclos-
ed by a more industrious hand, was also broken down : probably,
because the proprietor was too lazy to put it up himself, or even
to employ others for this purpose.
This scene struck the eye of the wisest of men with very great
force ; as he has taught us by the emphatica! language in which
he has expressed his feelings. " Then I saw, and considered it
well. I looked upon it ; and received instruction." In this state
of deep contemplation, this solemn pondering on the miserable
case before him, the emotions of Solomon were e.vcited to such a
pitch, that, turning his thoughts to the wretched proprietor, he
entered, in imagination, the house where the man lived ; and
there beheld him stretched upon his bed, at that very time of
day, when himself was examining so attentively the deplorable
consequences of his sloth. Here, as he fancied, he heard the
sottish being exclaim, " Yet a little sleep ; a little slumber ; a lit-
tle folding of the hands to sleep." Roused by this effusion ; the
most striking, which was ever uttered by a mind torpid with indo-
lence ; Solomon exclaimed by way of response, " So shall thy
poverty come, as one that travelleth ; and thy want, as an armed
man." From this humiliating view of the conduct and conse-
quences of sloth we cannot fail to learn some useful lessons, un-
less the fault should be our own. Among these the following ob-
servations well merit the attention of this assembly.
116 ON SLOTH. [HER. VIII.
1 . A slothful man is useless to hi in self.
The first utility of man to himself, the most natural, and that,
to which we are led by the strongest and most universal propen-
sity of our nature, is the acquisition of our subsistence. To this
we are called by the most absolute necessity ; our exposure to
hunger, thirst, and nakedness, to all the suflerings of beggary,
and the still keener sufferings of contempt. On the other hand,
comfort, reputation, usefulness, duty, and even ambition and ava-
rice, powerfully urge us to industry. These loud calls are heard,
accordingly, by almost all men. Even those, who are born in
poverty, feel their influence in such a degree, that in ordinary cir-
cumstances they struggle vigorously for a comfortable support ;
and usually with success. The diligent hand even of these per-
sons makes them in many instances rich ; and in most ensures to
them a comfortable subsistence. But the man in the text was
plainly born the heir of a patrimonial estate. He had a field and
a vineyard, and not improbably many fields ; but neither produ-
ced any thing beside nettles and thorns. Had any thing better
grown in either ; it would have been destroyed by cattle : for the
enclosure, by which it should have been defended, was broken
down. The proprietor, in the mean time, was at home, and not
in his field ; stretched on his bed in the day-time, and not at his
plough, or his pruning-hook. Instead of cultivating corn and
grapes, his proper employment ; instead of providing food for
himself, and his household ; he was crying out beneath the noon-
day sun, with the feelings of a mere animal, " Yet a Uttle sleep ;
a Httle slumber ; a little folding of the hands to sleep."
A more useless being than this, even to himself, cannot be im-
agined by the human mind. In defiance of all the powerful
motives, which I have mentioned, he was contented to be hun-
gry and naked, despised and forgotten, if he might only be per-
mitted to dissolve in sloth and lose himself in sleep.
This is an exact as well a strong picture of every lazy man.
Every such man is of the same useless character : useless I mean
to himself Every one has not indeed fields and vineyards, to
cultivate or neglect : but all manage whatever possessions they
,haYe in a similar manner.
SER. VIII.] ON SLOTSt. 117
This however is not the worst of the case. He is not merely
useless to himself; but is his own enemy. The whole character
of an enemy is exhibited in destroying or preventing the happi-
ness of him, whom he hates. The slothful man is his own ene^
my, because he both destroys and prevents his own happiness.
This truth, if it needs proof, will be abundantly evident from a
few observations.
He prevents his own happiness by wasting his property. This
effect of indolence is so inseparably connected with it, and so
universally seen to flow from it, that no words are necessary to
establish the position ui the most incredulous mind.
The same evil he produces also by wasting his time. God
thought it necessary, and gave it as a law to mankind, that they
should labour six days every week, and in this manner do ail their
work. Experience has abundantly shown the wisdom and the
goodness of this law. But, every week, the slothful man spends
six days in idleness ; and does not labour even one. All these,
therefore, are by him voluntarily lost ; and all the blessings,
which would spring from using them wisely, and diligently.
Thus the desire of the slothful killeth him : for his hands re-
fuse to labour. I need not observe that he, that he who wastes
six days in the week, will certainly squander the seventh.
Equally does he waste his talents. The employment of our
faculties is in itself, probably, the greatest secular pleasure which
we enjoy. Neither health, nor property, nor reputation, nor all
•f them, nor, as I believe, even Religion itself, so far as its exis-
tence is possible on such a supposition, will make men happy or
keep them from being wretched, without the employment of
their faculties. Accordingly, all the miserable beings who are
without useful business or refuse to perform it, are driven for the
mere purpose of killing time to the card-table, the dram-shop,
the horse-race, the corners of streets, or some other miserable
haunt of those who do nothing, and who seek here to while
away their heavy hours.
But, should it be said, that the slothful man thinks himself as
happy as other persons, and is therefore to be accounted go ; I ask,
Vol. H. " le
118 ON SLOTH. [SER. VIII-
" What is this happiness ?" The answer plainly is, " that of an
oyster," found in a mere exemption from insensibility.
The employment of our faculties produces enjoyment also^
in a rich train of consequences. Property, character, influence,
consciousness of being useful, provision for the wants of sick-
ness and old age, and the satisfaction of providing for the com-
fort and usefulness of those who are dependent on us ; all fol-
low in a regular train the employment of our faculties in the bu-
siness for which they were designed. All these the lazy man re-
linquishes for the privilege of setting in his chair, lolling on hi?
bed, and lounging in taverns.
Nor is he less an enemy to his reputation. Laziness is so
contemptible a character, and sinks a man down so near to the
verge of nihility, that it is despised by every eye, and reproach-
ed by every tongue. Contempt snuffs it as his proper prey ; and
infamy follows it unceasingly with her hiss and her sting. But
" a good name is better than great riches ; and loving favour than
silver and gold." Disgrace on the other hand is probably felt by
mankind as the last evil, usually suffered in the present world.
Equally is he an enemy to his usefulness. To be useful is in
every sense a blessing, of high moment. The most melancholy
lamentation of an old man is, " I am good for nothing." But
the slothful is voluntarily good for nothing throughout life. His
usefulness is all given up of design : and he will not suffer him-
self to be useful, even in his own person, and by his own faculties.
Influence, the great source of our usefulnes, where others are to
be persuaded and engaged, he has not, and cannot have. All
influence is acquired by reputation : but of this he has deprived
himself. His wishes therefore, and his plans, will only be oppo-
sed, and despised, by others.
Finally he is an enemy to his soul. " Therefore," says St.
James., " to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to
him it is sin." In this manner the whole life of a lazy man is
passed. Much good, which he perfectly well knows, is every
day left by him undone. Day by day, therefore, he accumulates
sins from morning to night. How vast, then, must be their num-
1SER. Vm.j ON SLOTH. 119
ber ; how incomprehensible their amount ! It is hardly necessary
to observe that these sins are the most fatal enemies of the soul.
2dly. The slothful man is useless to Mankind.
My observations on this subject must in a great measure be
anticipated by my audience. He, v^^ho is not useful to himself,
will never be useful to others. He, who is a nuisance to himself,
will be a nuisance to mankind. The lazy man must, if he lives,
be indebted to the labour of others for the food and raiment, the
fuel and lodging, on which he lives. Others must toil for every
enjoyment, which he partakes : and he is a mere load upon their
shoulders. At the same time he is a nuisance by his example, and
by his wickedness. A lazy man makes others lazy ; as a drunken
man makes others drunkards. Around him gather, of course,
those who are like him ; or those who speedily assume the same
character. Talkers, drones, incapable of managing their own
business, and meddling perpetually with that of others ; loungers
in shops, and market places ; politicians, perfectly capable of
guiding the wheels of government : each wiser, in his own con-
ceit, than seven men, who can render a reason : stains upon the
character of man, and a smoke in the nostrils of Jehovah.
On each of these poverty shall come, with the speed of one that
travelleth ; and want as an armed man. His end in this world is
commonly the Alms-house or Bridewell, the jail or the gibbet ;
and in the world to come that outer darkness, into which every
unprofitable servant will he cast, and in which there is perpetual
weeping, and gnashing of teeth.
I will now proceed, my young friends, to apply this subject to
your own circumstances.
The general nature of sloth I have unfolded to you succinctly;
but your circumstances differ so widely from those of most oth-
ers, that, in order to make my observations of any material use to
you, it will be desirable, if not absolutely necessary, that the case
should be directly and particularly made your own. This, there-
fore, I will now attempt.
Sloth in this Seminary of learning is directed, as it is elsewhere,
into different channels. I will attempt briefly to follow it in some
of its most obvious and distinguished courses.
120 ON SLOTH. [SER. VIII.
A number of those, who find admission into these walls, in
some degree varying at different times, have an original disrelish
to study ^ and a riding propensity to the active business of life.
These youths take up their books originally and solely, in obedi-
ence to the wishes and injunctions of their parents, and in oppo-
sition to the strong bent of their own nature. Thos6" parental
wishes, which send them hither, are in my view unwise and un-
happy. Few, very few of the children who possess this charac-
ter, will ever become scholars. The strength of natural propen-
sity in this case almost always prevails. The intentions of the
parents, indeed, are in the highest degree commendable : for they
evidently design to dispose of their children in the manner most
beneficial to them. Their disrelish to study, and their attachment
to active life, they hope by persevering opposition to overcome.
But they almost always hope in vain : for after all their labours
the child passes through the successive periods of his education,
with no more of learning or of science, than that which adheres
to him, merely because he is where it is ; because he has eyes
and ears, and is compelled by irresistible necessity to see and hear
something of what is passing before these senses.
Those of you, who possess this character, I consider as the
least censurable among the idle members of this institution. In
some measure you are certainly to be pitied ; because your con-
tinuance here is a struggle against the stiff bent of nature ; a
violence done to your constitutional inclinations. Were my own
advice to be followed ; every such person would speedily take a
dismission, if his parents' consent could be obtained ; betake him-
self to business, better suited to his inclinations ; and no longer
struggle in vain against a propensity plainly too powerful to be
overcome.
But let me remind all persons of this character, that they are
not merely to be pitied, but are also to be severely censured.
Such of you, as have been sent hither in these circumstances,
ought ever to remember that you were sent hither by your par-
ents ; that they had an absolute right to dispose of you in this
manner, that you are bound by the authority of G09 to submit
ȣR. VIIL] ON SLOTH. 121
your own inclinations to their pleasure ; and that he at the final
day will require this at your hands. You are bound also to re-
member, that the course which they have prescribed for you,
though unhappily contrary to the strong bias of your inclinations,
is in itself the wisest and best which is possible ; and that the
knowledge which they intended you should acquire, will, if actu-
ally acquired, be the greatest of all earthly blessings, which you
can obtain. By the command of God you are bound to obey
your parents in all things. If you reverenced your Maker ; you
would certainly obey them in this : for they are here eminently
seeking your best good, and labouring most benevolently to raise
you to usefulness and honour. Gratitude, therefore, adds all its
strong claims to filial piety, and piety to God ; and powerfully
urges you to overcome with a manly struggle your reluctance to
study. You may lawfully wish that your destination had been
diflferent. But nothing can vindicate your present neglect of
your duty.
Another class of idlers in this Seminary is formed of tliose.,
who in their dispositions exactly resemble the 7niserable being
whom Solomon saw, and whom he has made the subject of his re-
flections in the text. These are naturally lazy ; just as others of
our race are naturally passionate. The indulgence of sloth, so
far as we are able to judge, is their supreme good : and exertion
of every kind, the evil which they supremely dread. Address to
them whatever arguments you please, for the purpose of rousing
them to activity : rehearse to them the commands of God: repeat
before them the loud calls of their own interest ; of property, re-
putation, influence, and usefulness, ever attendant upon vigorous
efforts, especially those for the attainment of valuable knowl-
edge ; and the worthlessness, insignificance, disgrace, and beg-
gary, which follow hard on the heels of sloth : recall to their view
the wounds which their parents will receive from the disappoint-
ment of all their hopes, and from the disgrace, wretchedness, and
ruin, of their children : point to them their companions, honour-
ably contending in the race of learning, worth and usefulness:
the only answer which you will receive, is, " Yet a little sleep ;
a little slumber ; a httle folding of the hands to .sleep."
122 ON SLOTH. [SER. Vlli.
To those of you, who sustain this deplorable character, if such
there are, arguments can be addressed, only with emotions bor-
dering on despair. What can be expected of those who have no
ears to hear, nor hearts to understand ; whose minds are diseas-
ed and torpid ; and to whom the considerations of time and
eternity are alike presented in vain ? These persons do not walk,
but slide, down the broad and crooked road. They do not go,
but slumber, onward to perdition. Yet I will try once more, to
discharge my own duty to them ; however hopeless, however vain,
may be the attempt. Remember then the sentence, which God
has passed upon persons who sustain this miserable character.
" If any will not work neither shall he eat," i. e. if any person
will not do some useful business, allotted to him by Providence, he
shall not eat. Whenever he receives his daily food, he violates the
express command of God. Here every lazy man is expressly doom-
ed by his Maker to starving, and death ; and the very continu-
ance of his life, and the reception of the food by which it is sup-
ported, are downright rebellion against his Maker. Of what
other class of sinners are these terrible things said in the Scrip-
tures ? and what must be the views, what the detestation, of
Him, by whom they are said concerning this character ?
Remember also, that you are daily increasing the strength of
this propensity. Every hour, in which you indulge it, it becomes
a more and more powerful habit ; and chains you down in a
more and more hopeless bondage. Your efforts against it, your
attempts at exertion, already so feeble and fruitless, will soon be-
come the mere unmeaning struggles of a paralytic ; a trembling
of the limbs, instead of an effort ; involuntary struggles of the
system, made without the energy of the muscles, or the guidance
of the mind ; and only proofs that life is not entirely extinct
What then are you to become in the future periods of your
earthly residence. Like the paralytic to whom I have alluded,
you will become mere dependents on the bounty and protection
of those around you : if any can be found, whom nature will
compel to assume this care. In the same helpless state of im-
becility you will need to be watched, and nursed, and fed, by
SER. VIII.] ON SLOTH. 123
Others ; will be mere burdens on the industry and humanity of
your connections ; will be mere burdens to yourselves ; will drag
life onward as a load ; and will ultimately expire under the
pressure.
Another class of idlers in this Institution, and that much lar-
ger than both the former, is composed of those, who are vota-
ries to pleasure. These are not in the absolute sense slothful.
It is not true that they do nothing. It is only true, that they do
nothing to any valuable purpose ; nothing which is of any use
to themselves, their fellow men, or their God. They do much:
but all which they do, is mischievous to themselves and to others ;
often, very often it is fatal to both. In describing them it would
be neither proper nor possible for me to point out either partic-
ular persons, or facts, I shall therefore exhibit them, as they have
always existed in such institutions ; and shall leave it to those
who are present, and are involved in the description, however
few or many they may be, to apply it to themselves.
One subordinate class of these persons is made up of those.
who are devotees to dress and appearance. They were sent hith-
er to adorn their minds with learning, science, and virtue. They
spend their time in adorning their persons with fine clothes. Noi
books, but fashions, are the objects of their study : and their les-
sons of instruction are all taken from the tailor. The humar*
mind is, of course, under the government of one controlling ob-
ject. By him, to whom dress is this object, knowledge is of
course forgotten. In vain does a teacher labour to pour instruc-
tion into this vessel of the Danaides. It is every where pierced
with holes ; and whatever it receives merely passes through.
How miserably do parents err, how deplorably must parents be dis-
appointed, who send such children to a seminary of learning ?
How much less expensive, how much less mortifying, would it
have been to dress them at home. They are sent hither to be-
come men ; and they leave the place of their education fops
and beaux. No human character is, perhaps, more diminutive ;
no resemblance to an insect more inspressive. The minds of all
such persons are uncultivated, and desolate : the field of the
124 ON SLOTH. [SER. VIII.
slothful, grown over with briers and thorns ; in which not one
thing of use is permitted to spring.
In this class is found, to a great extent, a subordinate one, who
spend a great part of their collegiate life in visiting. These
waste their time in displaying their persons and dress to others :
and in trifling conversation about subjects of no value ; appar-
ently believing, that their souls were formed only to trifle ; and
that their final account, although made up of nothing but trifling,
will be accepted by the Judge of the quick and the dead. How
distant an approximation is this towards the character of a ra-
tional being : a being, formed to know, and love, and serve God ;
a being, fitted to become a blessing to mankind ; and destined,
during this period of probation, to secure immortal glory be-
yond the grave !
But all idlers in this and other seminaries of the same nature,
do not spend life in mere trifling. There are those, and the pro-
portion is not small, who employ a great part of their collegiate
existence in keeping company with each other. Most of these
aim at vice in more solid forms, and on a more significant scale.
All do not indeed commence their career with direct designs of
this nature. Some are drawn to such scenes merely by social
propensities : Others, by indisposition to study, and the conse-
quent necessity of finding some employment in which they may
spend their time less heavily and less gloomily than in absolute
inexertion. The mind is in its nature incapable of being totally
stagnant ; and instinctively demands some engagement, by which
its faculties may in some degree at least be occupied. Those,
who in the literal sense are willing to do nothing, are few ; are
perhaps always diseased ; and usually may be regarded as inhab-
iting diseased bodies. The rest, particularly those of the class
now under consideration, although idle with respect to every
thing which is good are suflficiently active in doing evil. First or
last this becomes the great object of their association. The
cluster is originally gathered, perhaps, in the hours of relaxation ;
but afterwards and at no distant periods, in those of study ; and.
ultimately, at late and untimely seasons of the night. At first if
SER. VIII.] ON SLOTM. 126
is assembled in the Collegiate rooms : ultimately, it is collected
in rooms abroad ; particularly in those buildings which are un-
occupied by families ; buildings which in the night become soli-
tudes, where no witnesses of what is passing within approach
nearer than the street. In these meetings youths are trained up
to sin, in form ; with the combined efforts of a multitude sedu-
lously helping each other onward with their united ingenuity,
arts, and labours, to Corruption and disgrace, beggary and ruin,
in this life, and to perdition in that which is to come.
Here profaneness runs speedily through all its changes, from
the half formed language of irreverence, babbled by the young
adventurer in licentiousness, whose conscience has not yet been
stupified, and who stili hesitates under the impressions of a reli-
gious education, to the rank oath ; the curse, which invocates
damnation on himself, and his companions ; and the outrageous
blasphemy, which deliriously assaults the throne of God. In
these dark retreats, also, pollution is generated in all its malig-
nant forms. Here the tongue learns to vibrate through every
degree on the rank scale of licentiousness, from the obscure innu-
endo to gross, bald, sickening, obscenity. The imagination, at
the same time, is here set on fire of hell : and the soul, tainted
and rendered putrid with impurity, becomes a lazar-house of cor-
ruption, and sends up rank and poisonous fumes to heaven.
Here, also, purposes and habits of pollution are formed, which
fix the miserable wretch who is the subject of them, beyond th«
hope of reformation or recall ; and invoking on his head a judi-
cial sentence of reprobation, begin his perdition on this side of
the grave.
In these cells of sin, also, is begun and carried on a regular
eourse of Gaming. Books, learning and science, character and
virtue, are here bartered for cards and dice. The money, given
by the parent as the means of supporting the honourable educa-
tion of his child, earned with his own toil, and often spared from
his own comfort, is ungratefully hazarded, fraudulently won,
and foolishly lost. Here the spirit of sharping and dishonesty
commences : and the fair mind is darkened with the stains of h«ll.
Vol. II. 17
126 ON SLOTH. [SER. VIII
The thoughts become gloomy ; the temper morose ; the purpo-
ses base ; the character despicable ; the hfe gross with turpitude;
the man hostile to every thing which is good ; and the hope of
immortality lost in eternal night.
Finally. In these chambers of death commence habits of in-
toxication. Strong drink here becomes, in a sense, necessary to
sustain the riot ; to restore the decaying spirits ; to drown the re-
membrance of his loss ; to renew the oath and the curse; to in-
vigorate licentiousness ; and universally to keep up the tone of
sin. Exajnple, in this case as in others, the serpent, which
charms its miserable victim to the jaws of ruin ; the magician,
which enchants all the rational powers, and benumbs the con-
science with eternal sleep ; draws the wretched culprit onward
from sin to sin, until he crosses the irremediable limit of hopeless
transgression, and is lost forever. Fixed beyond recall in ini-
quity ; judicially hardened ; he henceforth reels onward to the
grave and to the judgment. Such are the characteristics, such
the pursuits and such the end, of sloth in a Seminary of Learn-
ing.
All these persons by the courses of vice, which they volunta-
rily pursue, are driven also to others. These courses, in many
ways, in a sense compel them to be disorderly in their attendance
upon their collegiate duties. They are absent from their recita-
tions, from prayers, and from public worship. For these trans-
gressions they are obliged to invent excuses ; true, perhaps at
first, in some respects, and as they are capable of being un-
derstood ; but certainly false, as they are intended to be under-
stood. Here the youth sometimes begins, and, if he has already
begun, always strengthens, the spirit of prevarication. Here
he loses the high reverence for truth which this eminently sacred
object demands of every child of Adam. Here he chills the sus-
ceptibility of conscience ; that apprehensiveness of guilt, under
which the soul thrills with an electrical alarm, whenever tempta-
tion and sin are presented to its eye, and which is the first and
chief security against transgression, inwoven into the constitution
of our nature. Here he learns to look at falsehood with an eye
SER. VIII.] ON SLOTH. 127
less and less trembling, until it becomes cool, steady, and satis-
fied. Finally, here the habit of falshood is often riveted ; and
the melancholy career begun, which ends only in perdition.
At the same time, the idleness, the profaneness, the riot, and
the gambling, compel the Instructors, if they have sufficient in-
tegrity to discharge the duties of their office faithfully, to animad-
vert in various modes upon his conduct. He is reproved, warn-
ed, and rebuked. This rouses his resentment ; awakens a spirit
of revenge ; and prompts him to new and more violent perpetra-
tions. He is then formally and solemnly censured. The same
spirit, stung into new hostility, endeavours to reek its resentment
in new crimes. Detected again, he is finally sent away, with dis-
grace to himself, and extreme mortification to his parents.
Int-o the world he carries nothing, but wasted time ; abused
talents ; an empty mind, shrunk by sloth and polluted with vice;
and a life, in which conscience finds nothing to approve, and
God sees every thing to condemn. His habits have now become
too fixed to permit any reasonable hope of a change for the bet-
ter. Knowledge he has none, to qualify him for those kinds of
business, for which learning and science are the indispensable
preparation. Study he cannot ; because his idleness in these
walls has rendered the employment loathsome. For active bu-
siness of every kind, he is unfitted, both by his ignorance and his
inchnation. He, who has been idle here, will ordinarily be idle
wherever he is : and he, who has spent so much of life in seden-
tary idleness, is peculiarly disqualified for the exertions of activ-
ity. Besides, he leaves this place under a cloud. He has acted
in such a manner, as to be driven from these walls. The reason,
whatever it may be, will always be believed to have been an un-
happy one for him ; and usually will be the true one. The subject
has been so long under the eye of the public, and has been so
often illustrated in the experience of ages, that it is well under-
stood by the community at large. All men know that vice is the
regular object of collegiate censures : and most men entirely be-
lieve, what thirty years experience enables me to know, that idle-
ness is that bitter and prolific stem, of which all raok and poison-
128 ON SLOTH. [SER. VIII.
ous vices are the fruits. Of twenty students who leave this Sem-
inary in disgrace, nineteen are ruined by sloth. So long, and so
regularly has this been the fact, that it is in a sense proverbially
as well as generally known.
With these stains upon his character the miserable youth en-
ters the world. The course, by which alone he can recover a
decent reputation, is all ascending, steep, and ditticult. Who
can wonder, that to him habitually slothful and vicious it should
seem too long and too hard, to be resolutely encountered. Sloth,
according to ancient fable, had charms even for Hercules. What
must be its power over a youth, who was fascinated by it at first,
and has regularly chosen for a succession of years to bow him-
self under the yoke, without opposition or reluctance. Hardly
ever are the exertions made, which, in the case before us, are
indispensable to success. Idle here, he is idle every where. Vi-
cious here, he is vicious through life. Without reputation here,
disgrace accompanies him to the grave.
As he is useless to mankind ; it cannot be supposed, that they
will regard him either with esteem or affection ; or that they will
take any measures to render his iife pleasant. But he is not
merely useless. He is a common nuisance. Too indolent to
provide for himself an honest subsistence, he is obliged, if he
subsist at all, to derive the means from a succession of tricks and
frauds ; or to receive them from the hand of charity. His char-
acter at the same time is contemptible, and his example conta-
gious and baleful. Of course, he becomes an object on the one
hand of contempt, on the other of loathing. Want, with shriv-
elled cheeks, and haggard eyes stares him in the face wherever
he goes. Wherever he goes, he is followed by the finger of scorn,
the jeer of derision, and the hiss of infamy.
In the mean time he has a soul ; and, in spite of his sloth and
his wishes, is accountable and immortal. He, who is idle in his
temporal concerns, will be lazy in those which are spiritual. In
the case before us, vice, of many kinds and in gross degrees,
combines with riveted sloth, to render the work of salvation
doubly difficult. To a slothful mind the way to eternal hfe is
MER. VIII.] ON SLOTH. 129
full of obstacles ; steep ; rough ; hard of ascent ; immeasurably
long ; solitary ; and doubtful m its termination. On all these ac-
counts it is forbidding ; full of discouragements ; full of toil ;
devoid of comfort ; devoid of hope. To a vicious mind it is dis-
gusting in itself. Such a mind regards the business of obtaining
salvation as an odious, painful employment ; all the parts of
which it considers only with disgust. Equally disagreeable to
such a mind is the salvation itself. It sees nothing in eternal
life worth the possession ; much less worth the labour of attain-
ment. All the disadvantages, therefore, under which man la-
bours with respect to this mighty concern, combine their influ-
ence to prevent this man from securing the glorious acquisition,
and to shut him out of heaven.
On such a man it cannot be expected that God will smile. He,
who will do nothing for himself or his fellowmen ; who only de-
vours what they earn ; and who lives to no end, but to sin, and
to make others sin ; he who does nothing for the Author of his
being ; but violates his precepts, abuses his grace, and dishon-
ours his name, through life : can certainly expect no favour from
God. We know the end, as well as the character, of the servant
who wrapped his talent in a napkin^ and buried it in the earth.
How much less guilty was he, than most of those whose char-
acter has been described in this discourse. What then can these
persons expect, but to be given over to premature hardness of
heart, and blindness of mind ? Useless and noxious only, while
they live in the present world, what can they hope, but to be mis-
erable in that which is to come. Wicked and slothful here, they
will of course, with all the other wicked and slothful, be there
bound hand and foot, and cast into outer darkness, where is weep-
ing and gnashing of teeth.
It is remarkable, that this useless, worthless, wretched being,
throughout all the parts of this deplorable progress, hugs him-
self upon his superiour wisdom. This strange union of self-
complacency with folly and vice, has not escaped the observa-
tion of that profound investigator of the human character ; the
mithor of the Book of Proverbs. " The sluggard," says he,
130 <JN SLOTH. [8ER. VIII.
" is wiser in his own conceit, than seven men who can render a
reason." In this Seminary, and probably in others, he always pro-
nounces himself a genius ; vain of his talents, priding himself
particularly in his sagacity, and looking with contempt on his
industrious companions, although commonly superiour to him in
every valuable endowment as well as attainment. This silly
dream of his own shrewdness passes with him through life; and,
with all his rags, and shame, and sin, he thinks himself wiser
than any of those around him.
We are now prepared to sum up the account. The idle mem-
ber of this Seminary enjoys what pleasure he can, in sloth, in
dress, in visiting, in vicious company ; in profaneness, gaming,
drinking, and riot. On the other hand, he is ignorant, pitied,
despised, and punished. At the same time he imbibes and rivets
habits of vice, which cling to him through life. Into the world
he enters with the same pleasures, continually lessening indeed,
together with the means of them ; until at a period not very dis-
tant, he can enjoy them no more. Thither vice and shame fol-
low him. His character, here broken, is there lost. Poverty,
contempt, and disgrace, seize upon him as their prey. By good
men he is pitied ; by bad men despised ; and by both regarded
with reprobation. Parents point him out to their children, as a
warning against sloth and sin : and the Providence of God holds
him out to mankind for general instruction as a wretched monu-
ment of abused talents and neglected privileges. He lives un-
desired. He dies unlamented. For eternity he makes no prep-
aration ; and enters it with no hope. " He, that hath an ear to
hear, let him hear."
SERMON IX.
THE DANGER OF FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY.—Sermon 1
•-' ® e^
Proverbs xiii. 20.
But a companion of fools shall he destroyed.
The writer of this book particularly, and the Scriptural wri-
ters generally, teach us, that hy folly they mean sin. Thus Sol-
omon observes, that the thought of foolishness is sin. " Fools,"
he also says, " despise wisdom ;" that is, religion ; " and make a
mock at sin :" a character, which with particular propriety be-
longs to gross sinners. Such sinners seem, also, to be especially in-
tended in the following declaration ; "It is an abomination to fools
to depart from evil." It is hardly necessary to observe, that all
these passages clearly teach us, as indeed do many others, that
the writer of them by folly intended sin, and by fools those who
practise it.
The propriety of this use of these terms is obvious. Sin is
folly by way of eminence, and those, who practise it, are fools
in a higher degree, than any other men.
With this explanation, the text may be easily seen to contain
the following Doctrine : He, who frequents the company of sin-
ners, is in danger of eternal destruction.
The declaration of the text is absolute ; but, like other abso-
lute declarations, of which the Scriptures, particularly this book,
contain a very great number, is intended to be understood with
some qualifications. It is not true, that every one, who frequent*
the company of sinners is destroyed in any sense. Some per-
sons keep company with men of this description for a considera-
ble period ; and then renounce it, from a conviction of their
i 32 THE DANGER OF [SER. IX,
danger. Of these, undoubtedly some become pious ; and es-
cape the destruction intended in the text. Others, also, are
compelled to frequent such company by their own proper, law-
ful business ; and instead of being corrupted, regard their com-
panions with loathing and dread ; and derive from them little
else, beside warning and amendment. The case, however, con-
sidered in the general manner, which is here supposed, is far oth-
erwise. The greater number, and all, who voluntarily choose
such company through life, are ruined. Every one, therefore,
ought to believe himself to be in the most serious danger.
That eternal destruction is here designed is too clear to admit
of a question. Otherwise the observation is so evidently untrue,
that it could never have been written by a sober man. Many of
the persons, spoken of, undoubtedly come, from this very cause,
to an untimely death. Some are killed in duels. Some sink un-
der the pressure of infamy. Some become suicides. Multitudes
are victims to intemperance ; and not a small number are swept
away by the hand of pubhc justice. Still, it is not generally true,
that such persons do not, very commonly, reach the usual limit
of human life. Evidently, therefore, the destruction here speci-
fied cannot have been of a temporal nature ; but hes undoubted-
ly, beyond the grave.
This sentence was uttered by the wisest man who has hitherto
been found in the present world ; a man, peculiary versed in the
affairs of his fellow men ; a man, who watched human conduct
with a more critical attention, than any other, and with a more
piercing eye ; whose observations concerning it are more just,
various, and profound, than any, which are left upon record.
It was uttered, after he had lived long, and seen its truth proved
by abundant experience. It was uttered by the Spirit of God,
who had surveyed all the conduct of men from the beginning,
and had seen this truth verified in innumerable instances, in every
nation, and in every preceding age, of the world. It was utter-
ed by the judge of all the earth ; loho both rewardeth the fool,
and rewardeth the transgressor, with the very destruction, de-
nounced in this solemn and benevolent warning. The truth of
the declaration is, therefore, established beyond every doubt.
SER. rX] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 133
Still, it may be useful to examine the subject, as it is presented to
us by experience. Illustrations from this source may always be
advantageously subjoined to Scriptural declarations. What we
see we are apt peculiarly to feel. Our conviction may not, per-
haps, be more complete ; but our impressions cannot fail of be-
ing enhanced.
In illustration of this doctrine, I observe, therefore,
1st. Sinners^ when they become Companions^ devise wicked-
ness for each other.
Different persons see the same subjects in different lights, and
on different sides. Some sinners turn their thoughts to wicked-
ness in one form. Others survey it in another. The views of the
whole number, found in any collection of such men, are much
more extensive, various, and complete, than the views of an
individual. All these by communication become, in the end,
the views of all. Thus in the unhappily managed State prisons
of this country the youngest criminal, after a short confinement,
acquires all the knowledge, art, and skill, of all the hackneyed vil-
lains who are his fellow prisoners ; and is turned out upon the
world a veteran in adroitness, in determination, and in hopeless
obduracy.
So at the gaming table all the tricks of play, all the arts of
sharping and defrauding, are soon learned even by the youngest
adventurer. In the same manner the companions of thieves,
highwaymen, forgers, and coiners of false money, soon imbibe
all the arts of the oldest transgressors. In a similar manner also,
those, who frequent the haunts of lewdness, and intemperance,
become practised votaries to these sins ; and, as guides, direct
the unhappy novice to the successful perpetration of their respec-
tive crimes, and to the scenes of guilt and pollution, in which
they are ensnared and destroyed.
Nor is even this all. In a great multitude of cases they invent
new kinds of wickedness ; new ways, in which that, which has
been long pursued, may be safely and advantageously practised ;
new modes of providing against the evils of detection ; and new
Vol. IL 18
134 THE DANGER OF [SER. IX-
barriers against the intrusion or the resentment of parents, mag-
istrates, and others who may be especially dreaded.
Thus multitudes of crimes are devised and perpetrated, which
owe their existence solely to the fact that the criminals kept com-
pany with each other.
Hence it is often said by the wretch, who has been discovered
in the commission of gross sins, " I should never have thought of
doing such a thing, had I not been in that place, or in that com-
pany."
2dly. Sinners by being companions encourage each other to sin.
In the first place, by Example.
Mankind are creatures of imitation. The propensity to imi-
tate is conspicuous even in infancy, but much more in early child-
hood. Children then scarcely do any thing, but what they see
others do ; and attempt to do almost every thing, which they see
done by others.- This original characteristic of our nature is
never lost. All men imitate much through life : and many do
little else. Not a small portion even of virtuous conduct owes
its existence to this cause, while sins are multiphed by it without
end.
To sin we are prone by nature. The sight of sin, therefore,
in the example of others leads us by mere social impulse to the
commission. Nor is this all. The example emboldens, nay it
prompts, us to follow. We feel an ambition to resemble our com-
panions, and to rival them in whatever they do. At the same
time, the guilt and the danger gradually lessen in our apprehen-
sion. On the one hand, they become familiar by being frequent-
ly presented to our view ; and, on the other, are little felt by the
hardened beings, who sin continually before our eyes. Thus
both become less, and less ; until they are finally forgotten.
Secondly. Sinful companions encourage each other to sin by Ar-
guments.
Older and more shrewd, perpetrators have long been oblig-
ed to consider, extensively, the means of quieting the soul under
the consciousness of guilt, and the apprehensions of danger.
All the arts of self justification, and self flattery, and all the
SER. IX.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 135
means of resisting tiie force of arguments against their practices,
they have been compelled to explore and adopt. To these refu-
ges they have been often driven, and have thus rendered them
familiar. They have found them necessary to themselves -, and
therefore know that they will be useful to others. Hence they
bring them out on every occasion, to quiet the scruples, and sus-
tain the trembling hearts, of young beginners.
To these adepts in iniquity, also, every advantage, arising
from the commission of the sin in question, is at hand ; and such
advantages they fail not to exhibit in the fairest colours. The dis-
advantages, at the same time, whether real or pretended, v^^hich
may spring from not committing the crime, and losing the favor-
able opportunity, and from obeying the dictates of conscience,
they know how to set forth in lights equally strong and affecting ;
and thus place the unskilful adventurer on enchanted ground ;
where every thing wears a false form, and deceitful hue.
Thirdly. Such companions encourage others to sin hy Exhor-
tations.
Every passion is addressed by these men, from which they ex-
pect any aid. The fears of novices are attacked on the one
hand ; their resolution, on the other. Their sympathy is awa-
kened. The obligation of being faithful to the fraternity is urged.
Their cowardice is censured. Their courage is praised. Their
hopes are stimulated. They are promised esteem, honour, and
rewards. They are threatened with contempt, desertion, discov-
ery, and punishment. Like the Philistines, when they fought
against the ark of God, these modern enemies of his cross and
kingdom, mutually cry, "Be strong, and quit yourselves like
men."
Fourthly. Such sinners encourage each other to sin hy Flattery.
No persons so industriously labour to find out the weak side of
others as hardened sinners : and none more usually succeed.
To this they address themselves with a power, not easily resisted.
All the qualities, for which they see their young companions
value themselves, they enhance. Those, of which they are
ashamed, they either soften, or anniliilate. To their persons
136 THE DANGER OF [SER. IX.
they profess an ardent friendship ; to their interests, a fixed at-
tachment. They stimulate their hopes ; commend their efforts ;
prefer them to their rivals ; and praise the spirit and ingenuity,
which they discover in the commission of crimes.
To these persons, in the character of friends, the novice has
united himself as a companion. Their esteem, therefore, and
their good will, are by this very union invested with high impor-
tance. To stand well with them, is often thought to be an en-
viable distinction : and whatever they say makes of course a dan-
gerous impression on the inexperienced heart. To their exam-
ple, their arguments, their exhortations, and their iiatteries, the
novice in iniquity submits at first with little resistance ; and ulti-
mately yields himself up without a struggle.
Fifthly. Sinners encourage their companions to sin by Ridicule.
Fools, we are informed, 7Hake a mock at sin ; and, it may be
added with truth, at virtue also. Against both these great ob-
jects, and every thing connected with them, is the ridicule of such
men assiduously directed. As far as is in their power, they laugh
religion, duty, the Christian character, parental authority, parent-
al tenderness, filial piety and conscientiousness, the denunciations
of the Scriptures, a future retribution, and, in a word, all serious
thoughts, persons, and things, out of countenance. To overcome
the stripling's reluctance to any sin, they tell him, that he has
done other things which were as bad, or worse ; and that it is
contemptible to stagger at small things after he has perpetrated
greater. At his scruples they sneer. At his apprehensions they
smile. Detection, they assure him, is impossible ; or, at least,
incredible ; and punishment and perdition, mere tales of wonder,
repeated with no other design, than to frighten children away
from pleasure. They further inform him, that, whatever may be
true of some sins, that, which is proposed by them in any given
case, is either no sin at all, or a mere trifle undeserving of the
least serious regard. At the same time they hiss at all the cau-
tions, warnings and injunctions, of parents, ministers and magis-
trates, as mere bugbears -, believed by none of those who utter
them, and employed merely to compel the obedience of the
SER. IX.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 137
young and ignorant, and make the task of governing easy to
themselves. All things of this nature they declare have never
been believed, except by children and fools : vi^hile all v^^ise and
sagacious men have derided them from the beginning. Weak
and silly people, they observe, have always been priest-ridden,
^nd conscience-ridden : just as they have believed in dreams, and
trembled at ghosts and spectres : while men of sense have
laughed at them all ; and, boldly challenging their own rights,
have with a noble independence of mind turned all these gob-
lins out of door.s, and seized resolutely upon the genuine pleasures
of life. These and the like things, uttered in the language of
sneer, and with airs of contempt and derision, are usually taught
with a sure and controlling efficacy. Few, even among men, are
proof against the shafts of ridicule. We cannot wonder, that
youths should become an easy prey.
3dly. S'mners communicate the Spirit of sinning to each other.
The love of sin exists in every child of Adam as a powerful
propensity ; and by means of the social, sympathetic spirit of
man is easily set on fire. Whatever things are thus told, the
heart is prepared to believe, because it wishes to believe them.
The snare is ventured upon, because it is pleasant. The temp-
tation is the apple of the Manchineel ; beautiful to the eye, fra-
grant to the smell, and delightful to the taste ; but conveying a
deadly poison to the veins. It is the song of the Sirens ; charm-
ing the heedless mariner to shipwreck, on the fatal shore. It is
the cup of Circe ; delighting the palate with its sweets ; but
changing him who drinks of it, into a brute. In the midst of
companions ; amid gaiety, sport, mutual encouragements, and
mutual solicitations, it becomes a spell ; enchants the eye ; and
fascinates the heart. Cast your eyes upon a mob. What has
called them together ? What has roused their passions ? What
has generated their violences ? Not one in a hundred can an-
swer these questions. Some trifling cause of no moment gath-
ered, perhaps, a little cluster at first. Others joined them, mere-
ly because they saw this collection. Then others, and others
still, till, finally, we see them become a multitude. Some then
138 THE DANGER OF [SER. IX.
cry one thing, and some another ; as at Ephesus in the time of
the Apostles ; " for the assembly is confused, and the greater part
know not wherefore they have come together." Yet the passions
rage ; the soul is set on fire ; and acts of violence, which none
of them, separately, would have perpetrated or even devised, are
done, merely because the spark in one bosom was caught by an-
other, and another ; and the flame broke out with the fury of a
conflagration.
In a manner, generally corresponding with this, the sympa-
thetic spirit in evil companions spreads from breast to breast ;
and becomes more vigorous by every interchange. Under its
influence all help each other to sin ; and, taking each other by
the hand, are mutually led onward to perdition.
4thly. While sinners are employed in the company of each
other, they lose all the benefit, which they might have derived from
better instructions, examples, and jnotives.
This at the first glance may seem a trifling loss. A little re-
flection will prove it to be incalculable, A youth in this semi-
nary would hardly think himself censurable, much less beheve
himself in danger of suffering any serious evil, from spending
one hour of the twenty four in what he, perhaps, would call
agreeable company, but what is, in truth, too often the very compa-
ny, which I have described. Yet this would amount to at least
a twelfth part of the whole time, customarily devoted to the bu-
siness of life by very industrious men ; and probably to at least
a sixth of what such a youth would employ in this manner. Of
his proper time for business therefore, it would occupy two months
every year. But if he spend 07ie hour at the beginning, he will
soon consume //iree; or half the busy time of the year ; and
by obvious consequence half of the busy period of his own
life. When we subduct the seasons of sleep, of our meals, of
our exercise, of our occupation in nameless, trifling pursuits, the
remainder will be found much less than any man, who has not
calculated with exactness, would be persuaded to believe. The
portion of time, devoted to such company, therefore, soon be-
comes a formidable consideration by its amount.
%ER. IX.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANV. 139
But, when such company has been frequented for a season, it
is often, and in the ordinary course of things usually, frequented
with little intermission. Look at those people, who resort to
Smiths'' shops, hang about corners, and lounge in markets ; and
you will find them almost always at their post, wasting away life
in laziness and sin. There is scarcely a habit, which is more
powerful, or more absolutely immoveable.
From this source there is always much time, often the greatest
part, and sometimes the whole, of that which we can devote to
the great concerns of life, lost either in the company itself, or
in anticipating, or remembering, the conversation, the conduct,
and the sin. By a wise employment of these seasons, the useful
business of life might be effectually accomplished ; ample provi-
sion made for its comfort ; an honourable reputation acquired ;
the Bible read ; the closet frequented ; the moral state of the
man explored and understood, by a faithful employment of the
great duty of self-examination ; the best resolutions formed ; the
best courses of life pursued ; and the soul secured in a title to
eternal life. What a diflerence in the modes of hfe, in the char-
acter, and in the destiny of the man ?
5thly. In this manner sinners exclude themselves from better
company.
Men of worth, who are of course men of reputation, are, from
mere self-defence, obliged to refuse the company of those, who
are often found with the gross and profligate. At the same time,
they reject all familiar intercourse with such men from disgust ;
from the mere influence of taste ; and shun it from a sense of
duty, and from a prudent regard to their own safety. Every
person may unite himself to the society of the wise and good,
if he pleases ; but he must resort to no other. If he betakes
himself to evil companions ; they will soon be of necessity his
only companions.
The first clause in the verse, from which the text is taken, is ;
" He, that walketh with wise men, shall be wise." Consider for
a moment the nature, the value, and the extent, of this declara-
tion. Think what it is to be wise in the sense of the Scriptures :
140 I'HE DANGER OF [SER. IX.
to be approved by God ; and to be accepted by him beyond the
grave. Then, ponder the loss incurred by those, who either can-
not, or will not, walk with wise men.
But this immense benefit is voluntarily renounced, and finally
lost, by the companion of fools. Their instructions, their admo-
nitions, their reproofs, their example, the wisdom which they ut-
ter, and the virtue which they exhibit, he relinquishes for the pro-
faneness, the sophistry, the falsehood, and the profligacy, of his
companions in sin. In a word, he loses all the good, and suffers
all the evil, which men usually do to each other.
In these several ways, sinners by frequenting each others com-
pany advance faster, than they otherwise could advance, in ini-
quity of every kind. Each encourages his companion in sin ; and
strengthens the heart and the hands to every guilty perpetration.
From their first introduction to evil companions, and their first
resort to the places where they are found, endless multitudes date
all their predominant sinful desires, all their gross crimes, and all
their fatal habits. In such resorts drunkenness almost invariably
begins to form and rivet its dominion over man ; and commences
the Circean process of changing him into a brute. No man be-
comes a drunkard in his closet. Companions are necessary to
begin this sin in all men. At the social board, and amidst gay
and festive companions, is the taste for strong drink created ; and
here only is it converted from a relish into a habit. The sight
of others, the example of others, the sympathy roused by the
company of others, only, can persuade men to drown property,
health, reason, reputation, and hfe, in a cup ; or to bury con-
science, duty, hope, and salvation, in the mire of swine.
Here the young, unguarded victim first begins the thought, the
admission, the course and the habit of /raw^^ ; and the pursuit
of those gratifications, which in his view render the fraud neces-
sary. Here the frequency of fraud becomes the means of sub-
duing the reproofs of conscience. Here in the progress of sin,
the miserable wretch of a cheat becomes a thief; and prepares
himself alike for the jail, the gibbet, and the world of perdition
SER. IX.] FREQENTING EVIL COMPANY. 141
In these retreats profaneness establishes her malignant domin-
ion, and reigns with a fatal control, over all her slaves. Here
they learn with trembling lips, and an aching heart, the lisping,
infantine oath ; the babbling curse ; and the stammering prof-
anation of that glorious and fearful name, Jehovah our God.
No man ever began to swear profanely, alone. The language
would be senseless ; and destitute even of that little pleasure,
which is found in being profane before others. Like the small
pox, or the plague, this disease of the soul is derived from conta^
gion ; and is caught only by approaching those who are infected.
In the same dangerous recesses, also, is commenced and estab-
lished the deplorable sin of lewdness. Here pollution holds her
revels ; and sees before her Paphian shrine the young, the un«
thinking, the comparatively innocent, led like the filleted Ox to
the slaughter. Here the rude jest, the impure innuendo, the art-
ful argument, the sly sneer, the strong temptation, safety from
the danger of detection, and a host of crimes, are contrived, pro-'
vided, encouraged and accomplished, amid the countenance and
with the example of numbers, in the sequestered retirements of
darkness and sin. Here the simple^ the young men void, of under'
standings enter the by-way to hell ; and go down to the chambers
of death. None, that go in hither, return again ; neither take
they hold of the paths of life.
Amongst such companions, in a word, every sacred consider-
ation is set at naught, the Scriptures are laughed to scorn ; and
Heaven is with supreme contempt bartered for a jest. Hell at
the same time, is here hazarded for a momentary gratification of
sense ; and God formally defied to do the worst in his power.
By such companions all the influence of a religious education, the
force of reproof, the supreme tenderness of parental exhortation,
the power of preaching, the cogency of argument, the fi-iendly mo-
nitions and awful alarms of conscience, and the infinite motives
presented to the mind in the Word of God ; are annihilated.
Here, serious reflections are gradually and finally withdrawn ; reS"
olutions of amendment are palsied, and die : and every intention,
Vol. IL 19
142 THE DANGER OF &c. [SER. IX
and every hope, of returning to God, escaping perdition, and
obtaining everlasting life, is buried in the grave.
The poor, unhappy wretches, like the infatuated Trojans on
the evening preceding the day of their final destruction, assem-
ble with all the cheerfulness of hope, the gaiety of triumph, and
the songs and garlands of a festival, around the engines of their
ruin ; and dance, and revel and riot, on the brink of the eternal
grave. Daily waxing ivorse and worse, they soon bid adieu to
conscience, to remorse and to hope, and become more and more
tainted, diseased and putrid, till death knocks at the door, and
summons them to the judgment. liOaded with sin ; without an
interest in the Redeemer ; without a prayer offered, or a wish
exercised, for the mercy of a forgiving God ; their spirits ascend
to Him, who gave them, to have every loorTt, and every secret
thing, brought into judgment. Then all the enormous crimes,
perpetrated in these hidden retreats of iniquity, will be expo-
sed in open day ; and set in order before their eyes. That, lohich
has been spolten in the ear, ivill then be proclaimed on the house
top ; and that which has been perpetrated in solitude and dark-
ness, rehearsed in the great congregation. The Judge of the
quick and the dead will then uncover all these recesses of sin ;
and their profaneness, falsehood, fraud, drunkenness and lewd-
ness, pass in review before the assembled Universe.
How mightily will the scene then be changed ! When their
efforts at mutual corruption, when the crimes to which they have
seduced each other, are set in the light of God's countenance ; far
other views will be formed by them concerning their conduct
than those which they so eagerly cherished here. When, in their
last account, they come to recite the contrivances, deceits, en-
couragements and examples, with which they have become mu-
tual corrupters ; and when these things become the foundation of
their final sentence ; how will they tremble and shrink at the tre-
mendous prospect of the very things, in which they gloried amid
the gaiety, the riot, the tempest, of their perpetrations here be-
low ! But all these things will rise up before them in judgment.
On them, the final sentence will be founded ; and for them they
will be hurried away to the blackness of darkness forever.
SERMON X.
THE DANGER OF FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY— Sermon II.
Proverbs xiii. 30.
But a companion of fools shall be destroyed.
In the preceding discourse, after explaining the text, I derived
from it the following Doctrine :
1/c, who frequents the company of Sinners^ is in danger of
eternal destruction.
This doctrine I then illustrated by various considerations.
I will now conclude the discourse with some practical
PwEMARKS,
1 St. From these observations we learn, that sinful companions
are real and dangerous enemies.
They profess, indeed, and often with fair pretences, strong
declarations, and many seeming acts of goodwill, to be sincere
and ardent friends to those, whom they corrupt and destroy.
Nay they are frequently, and in an advanced stage of degenera-
cy always, believed to be the faithful and the only friends of
the victim. Their efforts to please are often more direct, open,
active and persuasive, than those of real friends. A studied and
specious accordance with the passions, wishes and purposes, of
those, whom they ensnare, invests them with a peculiarly pleas-
ing and desirable character, to the inexperienced and ignorant
eye of every youth. Where real friends advise, they only accord.
Where real friends alarm, they sooth. Where real friends re-
ptove, they flatter. And thus, where real friends become dread-
144 THE DANGER OF [SER. X.
ed, and in the end hated, they become endeared, dehghtful,
and at last necessary to the apprehended good of those, whom
they destroy.
All this, however strange it may seem at the first view, is easily
explicable. Every vicious person, however proud and vain he may
be, is secretly conscious that he is destitute of any real worth ; and
feels, that his claims either to respect or affection, are at the best
doubtful, and will be questioned. To these claims, therefore, he
is unwilling to trust, for reputation, good will, or good offices.
If he is to have friends, therefore, or admirers ; he knows, that
he must make them. Satisfied, that they will not follow hiniy
he determines to follow them. The esteem and attachment, which
he cannot command, he resolves to allure. The kind offices,
which he cannot claim, he labours to win. For worth, which
he has not, he endeavors to substitute assiduous civihty ; for ami-
ableness, a pleasing deportment ; and for usefulness, flattery.
Thus, although he cannot become estimable, he supplies, and
often more than supplies, the deficiency by the diligence with
which he seeks to promote the pleasure, encourage the hopes,
awaken the vanity, foster the wishes, and promote the purposes,
of those to whom he attaches himself. In this manner he is but
too commonly successful ; and finds the subject of his imposi-
tion willing to mistake agreeableness for worth, and sedulity for
friendship. Men of real worth, on the contrary, usually expect
that their friendship will be coveted, and their good offices sought^
They know the value of these things ; and naturally expect that
it will be known by others. Their friendship is therefore rarely
ofiered ; and, if obtained at all, is almost always solicited.
Let it not be supposed, that, because I mention this fact, I
therefore approve of the conduct. In many cases it is certainly
unhappy. Not a small number of youths have in all probabihty
been ruined, who might have been saved, had wisdom and vir-
tue taken them seasonably by the hand, and not left them to be
practised upon by the arts of cunning, and profligacy.
But real friends are those, who, whether pleasing or unpleas^
ing, design, and do, us real good. Let me exhort the youths in
SER. X.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 145
this congregation to remember, and to feel, this interesting truth.
Who else can deserve the name of friends ? What else can be the
value of friendship ? But these wicked companions, instead of
seeking your good, aim at your ruin. When, therefore, they
profess themselves your friends ; the profession is false and hol-
low. It is true indeed, that they are destroying themselves^ at
the same time. But in what respect will their destruction bene-
fit you ? Will their sins render yours less guilty ? Will their per-
dition render yours less dreadful ? Will it be any consolation to
you in the regions of despair, that those, who were here your
companions in crimes, are there your companions in misery ?
The man, who in this world voluntarily destroys, or even injures,
any valuable interest of his neighbour, is esteemed by mankind,
and by you as truly as by others, an enemy. These persons aim
at a far more comprehensive injury ; and accomplish an infi-
nitely wider ruin ; with the scythe of death they cut down soul
and body, life and immortality ; and leave nothing behind.
2dly. What an image does a company of sinners, thus resor-
ting together, present to a sober mind !
Were prophets of God, were even honest historians, to de-
scribe with a faithful hand the scenes of iniquity ; were they
faithfully to pourtray the characters, and relate the actions, which
take place in the dark retreats, in which these persons customarily
assemble ; what, think you, would be the appearance of the por-
trait ? Unfortunately for the young, the gay, the giddy, no such
historians are found, to present to them this dreadful picture, as
a solemn annunciation of what they will one day become by fre-
quenting evil company ; as a powerful antidote to all the com-
munications and examples, the arts and treacheries, by which
they are so often seduced. From analogy and conjecture only,
can sober men, in ordinary circumstances, learn the nature of
those transactions, which in many instances take place in these
recesses of iniquity.
But even analogy and conjecture, when joined with such facts,
as could not escape detection, furnish sufficient information con-
cerning the character and conduct of these men to alarm the
146 THE DANGER OF [SER. X.
Stoutest heart, and daunt the firmest eye, of the young adven-
turer in sin ; if he has not aheady swallowed the bait, and been
so effectually fastened by the barb, as to be beyond the hope of
escaping.
Who are the 2}crso?is, that thus consort together? They are
enemies to God, enemies to mankind, enemies to each other,
and enemies to themselves. It is true, they profess to be mutual
friends. But Judas was not less an enemy to Christ, because he
approached him with a kiss. Their real character is seen in the
fact, that they seek each others ruin. They are all gross sinners,
except such young, new, unpractised victims, as they have sedu-
ced to their company for the purpose of destroying them forever.
They have renounced virtue, principle, conscience and reputa-
tion ; and have given themselves up to passion and appetite, to
sense and sin. _
What is the jjlace, in which they have assembled ? It is a soli-
tude, from which every human foot is excluded, beside that of
themselves, and that of the pander by whom all the convenien-
ces of iniquity are provided to their hand : a cell, from which the
eye of their own parents, of all virtuous, of all sober, nay of all
decent, men is shut out : an outer chamber of perdition; where
themselves train up each other for final ruin, and where, if they
could open their eyes, they would see a collection of fiends hov-
ering over them, and hailing with a malignant smile their profli-
gacy, and their approaching destruction.
What is the season, at which they are assembled ? It is the
dark and silent hour of temptation : the season, when midnight
veils their crimes from all but the eye of God ; when imagination
is on fire ; when passion is excited to delirium ; when conscience
is asleep ; and when the sense of safety from detection embol-
dens even the timid heart of the novice to every perpetration.
What are the purposes, for which they are gathered .^ To give
temptation its most alluring form, its most seductive language,
and its most fatal efiicacy ; to perpetrate crimes, which shrink
from the eye of day ; to make rebellion against their Maker con-
venient, safe and pleasant ; to blot out of remembrance all mo-
SER. X.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 147
lives to repentance and reformation ; to extinguish mutually,
and finally, the hope of heaven ; and to help each other onward
towards hell.
What is the language^ which is here uttered ? It is the obscene
jest ; the tainted narrative of pollution ; the lewd song ; the false
recital ; the hypocritical profession ; the treacherous promise ; the
impious oath ; the malignant curse ; and the tremendous blas-
phemy. In a word, it is the language of hell ; learned, and prac-
tised, against their arrival at that world of sin.
What are the practices^ which are found in these strong holds
of Satan ? These are endlessly various, as well as enormously
guilty : for here iniquitt/ is drunk like ivater. Here are practised
all the frauds of the gaming-table, amid that host of vices by
which it is regularly surrounded : and art and trick here rob the
silly novice of his property as effectually, as the pistol or the dag-
ger. Here the theft and the robbery are projected, and matured.
Here the swindler is formed, and educated ; the forgery nicely
finished, so as to escape the most critical eye ; the coin falsified •,
the man changed into a brute by drunkenness ; and the soul by
a course of impurity converted into a Sodotn.
What is their end ? Poverty, shame and ruin, in this world ;
death without hope, judgment without mercy, and misery with-
out mixture or termination, in that which is to come.
3dly. liet me urge those^ who hear me ^ to shun evil companions.
If God is true ; they will ruin you forever. That good should
be derived from them is impossible. That immense evil will be,
is certain. Every injury is to be regularly expected from them ;
and every means of perdition is continually employed by them
with a sure and dreadful efficacy. In their company temptations
are contrived and presented, which the young, ignorant and in-
experienced, victims of their influence would elsewhere never
have found ; and sins proposed and committed, of which else-
where they never would have formed a conception. Hence they
contract, here, a pollution, a debasement, a degeneracy, a prep-
aration for eternal death, which elsewhere they would finally
have escaped.
148 THE DANGER OF [SER, X.
To Youths, let it be remembered, these observations are pecul-
iarly applicable. Youth is the most innocent, comparatively the
safest, and clearly the best, season of human life for all religious
purposes; and for the consummation of them all, the attainment
of endless glory. But youths are more inexperienced, more un-
guarded, more thoughtless of danger, and of course more natur-
ally exposed to corruption from without, than men of superiour
years and discretion. Youths discern less readily, less clearly,
and less perfectly, the character and the designs of those with
whom they consort. To the arts of seduction they are chiefly
strangers. Rarely do they suspect those around them, particu-
larly those who wear a plausible appearance, and make a fair
profession. They naturally believe in the sincerity of others, be-
cause they are themselves sincere : and, as they design nothing
but what is kind and well-meant, they easily believe the designs
of others to be of the same nature. Particularly the pleasant-
ness, civility, apparent good-will, and agreeable flattery, of their
companions are readily admitted by them as proofs of friendly
and upright intentions.
Accordingly, Solomon in choosing his example, to prove the
easiness, power and certain success, of seduction, points us to a
Youth. " I beheld," says he, " among the simple ones, I discov=
ered among the youths, a young man void of understanding, pas-
sing the street by the corner ; and he went the way to her house.
And behold, there met him a woman, with the attire of an harlot,
and subtle of heart. With her much fair speech she caused him
to yield : with the flattery of her lips, she forced him. He goeth
after her, straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or a fool
to the correction of the stocks. Till a dart strike through his
liver : as a bird hasteth to the snare of the fowler, and knoweth
not that it is for his life."
To this scheme his instructions are generally and intentionally
conformed throughout the book of Proverbs ; which he says was
written, to give subtlety to the sim-ple^ and to the young man hnowh
edge and, discretion.
SEE. X.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 149
Youths, then, are in the sight of God thus in danger from evil
companions. To this congregation, so generally composed of
such as are young, these considerations come home with supreme
energy ; and by every youth present, ought to be regarded as of
all possible importance.
In these discourses you have heard the dangers of evil company
briefly explained, and the miserable consequences of frequenting
the retreats where they are found. By the mouth of God him-
self, you have been taught, that The companion of fools shall be
destroyed. He is the best of all friends ; the wisest, the most
sincere, the most affectionate, the most faithful. With infinite
tenderness he loves your souls, and seeks your eternal well-being.
Prompted by his unlimited benevolence, and to promote this in-
estimable object, he wrote for you the salutary, the indispensable,
admonition in the text. He cannot but know, he cannot but de-
clare, that, and that only, which is true. His omniscient eye,
glancing at once with an intuitive survey over all the nations of
the earth, and discerning the nature of all human conduct, saw
with perfect certainty the tendency of frequenting evil company ;
its malignant influence ; and its dreadful consequences. To
warn and to save you, he has caused this affecting declaration to
be written in the Scriptures of truth ; and to be brought out this
day, in his holy place for your instruction and safety. Hear his
voice, I beseech you ; and, while you hear, obey.
To this awful voice Experience joins her suffrage ; and Rea-
son, hers. All mankind, who have spoken on this subject, have
spoken only in the same manner. The danger, the ruin, of evil
companions have engaged the attention of thinking men in every
country, and in every age. " Evil communications," said a
Heathen poet and philosopher, " corrupt good manners." "Evil
communications corrupt good manners," says the eternal God ;
condescending for wise reasons to adopt this just and interesting
declaration into the Canon of his word ; with an especial design,
perhaps, to show how perfectly accordant the dictates of sober
experience and rectified reason are with his own truth.
Vol. n. 20
i 50 THE DANGER OF [SER. X,
Can a truth so uttered, so evidenced, fail of being embraced
by you ? Can you hesitate for a moment to shun a danger so
great, an evil so pernicious ? Why would you shun a viper ?
You reply, "■ because his bite is poisonous and fatal." A sinful
companion is infinitely more venomous and deadly. Why would
you avoid a precipice ? " Because," you answer, " a single heed-
less step might hurry me to destruction." To a destruction more
sure, as being less dreaded, and infinitely more complete, you
will be hurried by evil companions. Fly them, therefore, with
more anxiety, than you would fly from a viper. Tremble, when-
ever you approach them, with more dread than you experience,
when you approach a precipice. These enemies can destroy
your bodies only : those will destroy your souls. Flee from them,
therefore, not as you would flee from a temporal enemy, but as
you would flee from perdition, and escape from hell. To hell, to
perdition, evil companions, if you leave them not, will soon con-
duct you.
Let me especially warn you of a danger from this source, of
which nothing, hitherto said in these discourses, will make you
aware, and which, nevertheless, you ought peculiarly to dread.
The persons, who will become your first tempters, will very im-
perfectly sustain the character which I have given of evil com-
panions. Generally, they will be like yourselves ; so far, at least,
as you will perceive; will sustain a fair reputation ; will be free
from any gross faults ; and will intend, perhaps as little as your-
selves, to accomplish any part of this work of temptation and
ruin. They will only love pleasure, better than business ; and sin,
better than duty ; as you, possibly, may do even more than they^
From such persons you will apprehend no evil ; and they proba-
bly will intend none. Perhaps they may have more to appre-
hend from you^ than you from them. But, wherever this charac-
ter exists, all, in whom it is found, are in danger 5 and that the
more, because the danger is wholly unsuspected. The begin-
nings of sin are peculiarly to be dreaded, because the evil is then
unseen ; and peculiarly to be watched, because it may be easily
and certainly avoided. The first thing, commonly done in this
case, is to neglect the proper studies of the day ; and yield it up,
SER. X.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 161
or a part of it to idleness, sport, and useless conversation. Even
this is ordinarily done, at first, with some sincere intentions not to
do it again. But the interview is too pleasant, not to be repea-
ted ; and at every repetition becomes more pleasant. At every
repetition, also, the resolutions of not repeating it again become
weaker ; till they cease to be formed at all : and the disposition
to study declines, till it finally vanishes. Idleness, amusement
and dissipation, have now taken possession of the mind ; and by
insensible degrees established their dominion. The twinges of
conscience have become less and less painful, and more and more
easily resisted. The reproofs of parents and instructors, having
been sustained a few times, become more easily sustained. Ex-
cuses, in the mean time, are so often necessary, and so often de-
vised, that the mind becomes ingenious and hackneyed in the bu-
siness of devising them ; and, although often suspected, have
been so frequently admitted, that they are considered as a suffi-
cient source of safety in future difficulties and dangers. The
loss of reputation, in the mean time, is so gradual, as at no par-
ticular period to awaken any serious pain ; or to excite even a
distant apprehension that it may ever be finally lost. In this
manner such companions proceed, and have always proceeded,
from idleness, trifling conversation, a waste of time, the abuse of
talents, and the sacrifice of privileges, to obscenity -, gaming ;
profaneness ; a general course of irreligion ; a general desertion
of their proper business, and duty ; frequently, to excessive drink-
ing ; always, to the ruin of their character ; and, almost alvvays,
to the ruin of their souls.
The commencement of this course is, therefore, the thing,
which is to be peculiarly shunned by the youths in this house.
Their danger chiefly hes where they apprehend no danger.
Their ruin commences, where they feel themselves safe. Nei-
ther intends to corrupt, nor to be corrupted ; yet both, yet afl,
are corrupted, and corruptors. Dread, therefore, the first ap-
proaches of idleness ; of keeping company with the idle ; of
losing the hours of study ; of trifling, and dissipation ; as a gulf
to which there is no bottom, and out of which, if you fall, you
will never rise again.
152 THE DANGER OF [SER. X.
Almost every youth, who has been ruined in this seminary,
within my knowledge, has been ruined in this manner. I speak
not of those, who were ruined at home ; who entered these
walls, tainted with vice ; and, spreading their infection through
the better and healthier minds of those around them, became
nuisances to the institution ; a blast to the hopes of parents ;
and a curse to their children. These persons have at times
brought with them, in different gradations, the character, the
arts and the corruptions, mentioned in the preceding discourse ;
and, settling here in unsuspected silence, blighted the harvest of
worth, apparently advancing towards full maturity. I speak of
such youths, as have come hither with no peculiar corruption ;
with a reputable freedom from vice; with fair hopes ; and with
honourable designs. Of these, some have found, here, means
and motives, which have operated to their ruin. But probably
not more than one, in one hundred of those who have been de-
stroyed, has accomplished the destruction for himself. Left to
themselves, unsolicited and unseduced by others, the ninety-nine
would, at their return home, have in all probability become the
joy of their parents, and blessings to mankind. But here, where
so many youths assemble, and where some of course will be of a
vicious character, they became the prey of evil companions ; and
of the sophistry, the arts, and the tricks, which I have described.
Let it be remembered, that I have been almost thirty years a res-
ident in this seminary ; that I entered it, when a child ; and that
I continued in it without interruption twelve years : and that a
great part of the modes of corruption, mentioned in these dis-
courses, I have personally seen and heard. Nay, not a small
number of them have been practised upon me. I can, therefore,
speak with certainty, as well as with strong feelings, on this sub-
ject. Every one of you may rest assured, that I have not mista-
ken the case, nor any part of it ; and that the representation,
which I have made, is exactly true, as well as infinitely important.
Shun therefore, every one of you, this course of danger and
mischief. Especially shun, because you are in peculiar danger
from them, and because resistance here will usually prove a final
victory, the first approaches of temptation ; the first appearances
SER. X.] FREQUENTING EVIL COMPANY. 153
of sin ; the first obtrusions of evil companions ; the first sacrifice
of your own time ; the first neglect of your daily studies ; the
first solicitations to any improper conduct ; and the civilities,
flatteries and persuasion, with which they will be attended.
Keep your hours of study sacred to yourselves : and with invin-
cible firmness preclude every stranger from intruding upon you in
those hours, which God has made sacred.
Should you be solicited to visit the haunts of sinful pleasure ; of
gaming, profaneness, drinking, and obscenity ; consider the soli-
citor as the enemy of your peace ; who, if not decisively resis-
ted, will rob you of your reputation, blast your hopes of improve-
ment, wound your conscience, pollute your souls, and shut you
out of heaven. With persons of this character keep no terms.
Their company is baleful : their solicitations are the poison of
asps : and every accommodation with them, is only a comprom-
ise for your destruction.
4thly. How anxiously ought parents to prevent their children
from frequenting evil company !
Parents are guardians of their children, appointed by God
himself. The trust is supremely solemn and important ; and the
thing entrusted of pre-eminent value. What earthly object is
more precious than children ? How willingly, how patiently, how
perseveringly, with what unbroken, unwearied affection, care and
anxiety, do parents labour to promote the safety and prosperity
of their beloved offspring ? How cheerfully do they give up their
own gratifications, and sacrifice their ease, convenience and
comfort ? What does all this prove ? Their intense love to this
favourite object. For what is all this done and suffered ? That
the well-being of their children may be secured.
But, if this be the great end, aimed at in all these exertions;
they ought certainly to be directed to their true well-being, their
everlasting good. To provide for them the pleasures of this
Vi^orld ; to gratify their pride, avarice and sensuality ; to heap up
for them enjoyments, which at the end of an idle, empty, momen-
tary life will vanish forever ; and to make no efforts for their end-
less happiness in the future world ; to take such vast pains to
154 THE DANGER OF, &c. [SER. X.
pamper their bodies, and to neglect their souls, as aliens and out-
casts : is folly supreme and immeasurable.
But this endless happiness evil companions will prevent. The
very hope of immortal life they will destroy forever. From this
incomprehensible danger, then, this final ruin, let these affection-
ate, these divinely appointed, guardians secure their beloved off-
spring ; whatever efforts or anxiety it may cost. Let no parent
say, that he cannot prevent his children from consorting with such
companions. Unquestionably they may be powerfully allured
by them ; nay, they may have already become strongly attached
to them. They may be deaf to parental remonstrance. They
may artfully elude inspection. They may obstinately resist au-
thority. But would any, would all these difficulties persuade a
parent to yield them up to temporal destruction ? Were it in his
power, would he not preserve them from suicide ; whatever ex-
ertions, whatever sacrifices, it might cost ? How much more wil-
lingly, and perseveringly, ought he to undergo any labour, and
make any sacrifice, to save a child from perdition ?
Ordinarily, however, the case is far from being attended with the
difficulties here supposed. Let the parents begin their active
government of their children with an universal determination to
know, at all times where, and with whom, their children are ;
and suffer them to frequent no places, and consort with no com-
pany, which they themselves do not approve, nor without their
permission. Let them warn their children affectionately, and
from the beginning, of the immense danger always found, and
the fatal evils regularly suffered, by those who are companions of
the wicked. Let them allure to their own houses such compan-
ions for their children, as will be at once agreeable and safe.
Let them make their own company and conversation easy and
inviting ; and their fireside cheerful and pleasant ; and let them
daily ask God to preserve their children, and crown their own la-
bours in educating them for his service with success. If they
faithfully perform these duties ; they will ordinarily find their task
easy ; their children safe ; their consciences satisfied ; and their
hopes continually brighter, and brighter, of seeing their family
united forever in the enjoyment of immortal life.
SERMON XL
THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING THE CREATOR IN YOUTH— Sermon L
ECCLESIASTES xii. 1.
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth : while
the evil days come not, nor the years draw nigh, when thou shalt
say, " / have no pleasure in them.''''
The writer of this book was, as you know, distinguished above
all men for his wisdom, and peculiarly for his knowledge of the
character, and business, of men. At the time when it was writ-
ten, he was advanced in years ; and from his youth had with a
keen and scrutinizing eye, watched the character of mankind,
and marked carefully the advantages, which accompany a vir-
tuous life, and the evils, which attend a sinful one ; and had de-
rived from this course of observation a collection of the best
maxims for the regulation of human conduct, of which mankind
have ever heard. The attention of this great man was especially
directed to youth ; probably because he knew the importance of
that period. He had seen in innumerable instances, that the fu-
ture character chiefly depended on the instructions given, and
the habits established, in the morning of life. His views of this
subject he has completely expressed in a single sentence : "Train
up a child in the way he should go ; and when he is old he will
not depart from it." Hence, he directed his efforts pecuHarly to
the reformation of youth ; and, as he informs us, wrote the book
of Proverbs, or important and pithy moral precepts, to give the
young man knowledge and discretion. The wisdom and benevo-
lence of such a design need no illustration ; and the book, in
which it is here executed, is without a rival.
156 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XI.
To the instructions of such a man thus employed, every youth
is bound by every obligation to listen with gratitude, veneration,
and faithful obedience. To these high and solemn sanctions,
furnished by the character of the writer, and to the inestimable
value of the instructions themselves, is added the seal of inspi-
ration ; the decision of God, the only wise, and the only good.
In the book of Ecclesiastes this great man forgot not his favor-
ite object ; but, while investigating subjects, mysterious in their
nature, incomprehensible in their extent, and immeasurable in
their importance, he turned aside, not unfrequently, to resume
the direct instruction of youth, and to promote in the most effica-
cious manner their wisdom and piety. In this chapter particular-
ly, he shows us, that the book of Ecclesiastes, as well as that of
Proverbs, was written, primarily, for the young. This chapter
is what, in the language of writers of sermons, would be called
the practical application, or improvement, of the whole dis-
course. It commences with the text ; and in this manner shews,
that the writer had all along aimed at the benefit of this class of
mankind, as a primary object in this book, as well as that of Pro-
verbs. While he has here left a noble example to other moral
instructors, and taught them to direct their own labours, exten-
sively, towards the same object, he has also laid the foundation of
the strongest claims upon the affection, and respect, of those,
whom he has thus made his pupils. There is something pecu-
liarly edifying as well as delightful, in seeing a man so pre-emi-
nent in wisdom, power, splendour and fame, as Solomon, and so
occupied by the complicated business of a great empire, making
the instruction, virtue and happiness, of the young a primary ob-
ject of his thoughts, and the primary purpose of his writings. It
is, still, a much more interesting theme of our recollection, that
the God of the spirits of all flesh has been pleased, in his own
most holy Word, to pursue the same purpose ; to make youth a
peculiar object of his gracious attention ; to raise up for them in
his Providence so able an Instructor ; and, agreeably to his per-
fect wisdom, to employ him in communicating these invaluable
lessons.
SER. XI.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 157
In the text young persons are required to rememher their Cre-
ator in the days of their youth ,• and before the arrival of those
future periods of Ufe, which are here justly styled evil days, both
because the enjoyments of this life are greatly diminished, and be-
cause they are peculiarly unfavourable seasons for securing the
enjoyments of a better life. It is my intention in discoursing upon
these words,
I. To explain the Duty, which is here enjoined :
II. To suggest several Inducements to the performance of it :
and
III. To mention several Reasons, which usually prevent it from
being performed.
I. I shall endeavour summarily to explain this Duty.
To remember our Creator is,
1st. To make him frequently an object of our thoughts.
" The wicked," says David, " through the pride of his counte-
nance will not seek after God : God is not in all his thoughts."
The character of the righteous is, in this respect, of a directly
contrary nature ; and is happily expressed by the same excellent
man, when he says of himself, " I have set the Lord always be-
fore me." Every day, on every important occasion, and on very
many occasions which are not important ; every good man will
make God the object of his thoughts, and call to mind his char-
acter, and his presence. He, who does not this in some good de-
gree, can hardly be said to remember God at all.
2dly. To remember God, denotes, that our thoughts concerning
him be true, and just ; or, in other words, such as are communi-
cated by his Word and Works.
To attribute to God, when we think of him, qualities, which
are not his, and to forget his real character, is not to remember
him, but a Being, whom we substitute for him. It may be an
idol, Jupiter, Baal, or Moloch ; or a being altogether such an one
as ourselves ,* but certainly it is not Jehovah. To remember
him is, in the sense of the text, to remember him as he is.
Vol. II. 21
158 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XI.
But it is the true character of God, to be self-existent, inde-
pendent, immutable, and eternal, to be present in every place,
and to know every thing.
It Is the true character of God to possess unlimited holiness, jus-
tice, wisdom, power, goodness, faithfulness and truth.
It is the character of God to be the Creator, Preserver, Pro-
prietor, Ruler, and final cause, of all things.
It is the character of God to be the Benefactor, Rewarder, and
Judge, of the intelligent universe.
It is the true character of God to be the Father, Redeemer, and
Sanctifier, of mankind.
If, therefore, we would perform the duty enjoined in the text :
we must ascribe to him in our thoughts all these great and glo-
rious attributes ; must consider him as existing alone, without a
rival, without a second ; and we must be able to say, " This God
is our God ;" the object, on which our thoughts dwell forever
and ever.
3dly. To remember God, in the sense of the text, is to remem-
ber him CordiaUy.
It is not enough, that God should be in our thoughts ; and that
our thoughts concerning him should be just and true. These
things cannot exist alone. In order to entertain these modes of
contemplation concerning God in the manner, which has been al-
ready directed, it is indispensable, that our affections harmonize
with our thoughts ; and be intertwined with them, so as to form
a part of their very contexture.
Nothing is more plain, than that the Being, who possesses these
exalted attributes, ought always to be remembered by us with
supreme Love, Complacency, and Gratitude. His excellence de-
mands this of us with an obligation, which no virtuous being can
resist, and no sinful being deny.
Nor are we less under obligation to remember him with Rev-
erence. This atfection is demanded of us irresistibly by that
union of majesty, purity, and kindness, in which he so extensive-
ly manifests himself to the view of his Intelligent creatures.
sER. XI.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 159
Equally are we required to remember him with Admiration.
This religious emotion is every where called for by the wonder-
ful works of his Power and Wisdom, both in Creation and Prov-
idence, and peculiarly by the wonders of Redemption. It is an
emotion, continually exercised by every good man, when con-
templating these marvellous objects ; and appears to have occu-
pied no small part of the time, as well as the thoughts, of David :
as is abundantly manifested in the Psalms.
4thly. To remember God, in the sense of the text, is also to re-
member him Practically.
Every person, inclined, or even willing, to perform this duty,
will keep before his eyes the absolute sufficiency of God for every
great and good purpose ; and his perfect disposition to accom-
plish that, and that only, which is desirable. What he under-
stands of the divine dispensations he will approve. Where he
does not understand he will confide. In this manner he will
cherish perpetually a spirit of Acquiescence and Resignation.
At the same time, he will solemnly call to mind on every occa-
sion that to this universal Creator, Ruler, and Judge, he is en-
tirely accountable for all his moral conduct ; and will keep before
his eyes the authority, wisdom, and excellence of his precepts,
with a sincere intention cheerfully and faithfully to obey them.
This, especially, is what Solomon intended in the text ; and is
the end, for which all, that is mentioned above, is to be done.
God is remembered by us to no valuable purpose, unless we con-
secrate ourselves to his service, faithfully obey his most holy will,
and thus live to the glory of his name.
To remember God is the indispensable duty of all men. Still,
it is here peculiarly enjoined upon those, who are Young. I will
now, therefore,
II. Suggest to the Young persons in this assembly several In-
ducements to the performance of it.
1 St. All the obligations, which require this duty of others, re-
quire it of you.
The duty of remembering God commences with our moral
agency ; at the moment, when we begin to discern between good
160 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XI.
and evil, and are capable of choosing the one, and refusing the
other. That God has an absolute right to us, and to our services,
has been already seen. You will not question, that this right
commences with your existence. As little will you doubt the
reasonableness of his requiring your services, your absolute need
of his favour, or the supreme importance of living to his praise.
All these things began with your capacity of understanding them.
As soon as you were able to love, fear, and serve God, they all
became your indispensable duty. In neglecting them you com-
mit many sins ; and fail, so long at least, of performing your du-
ty, and obtaining an interest in his mercy. So long you will be
destitute of the blessings, furnished by a pious mind, and of a
title to eternal life,
2dly. Youth is the best season for performing this duty.
It is the best, because it is in your possession. Other seasons
may, or may not, arrive. The accepted time, to every man, is
now. The present day is the day of salvation.
It is the best, because your hearts are more tender, and more
susceptible of religious impressions, than they ivill probably be at
any season hereafter. The susceptibility of the youthful heart is
proverbial. Your affections have not, hitherto, been rendered
callous by the enervating influence of sensuality ; nor by the be-
numbing power of avarice and ambition. Your sensibility is ea-
sily awakened. Your fears are easily roused. Your hopes are
naturally vigorous, and your attachments strong. You are much
more prone to feel a grateful sense of benefits, than persons, who
have long been active in the sordid business of this world ; who
have long been accustomed to absorb their thoughts in plans for
heaping up money, in making hard bargains, in the intrigues of
cunning and mischief, in contending against rivals for place and
power, and in hunting after popular applause. The vigour of
your minds has not been wasted by a long continued exposure to
the infection of voluptuousness. Your hearts in a comparative
view have not been hardened by the sophistry of self-justification,
and self-flattery. You have not palsied your fears by venturing
aften to the verge of crimes, by passing over to forbidden ground,
SER. XI.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 161
and by finding yourselves still safe, although you have boldly
perpetrated iniquity. These are evils, the full effects of which
are felt only in later life. They exist, indeed, in you ; but with
a far less eflicacious and triumphant energy, than at more ad-
vanced periods. At this time, therefore, and for this reason, you
enjoy the most favorable opportunity for turning to God, renoun-
cing sin, resisting the influence of temptation, and entering the
path to heaven.
It is the best season because it is, comiJarativehj, unoccvpied by
other objects. The cares of this world have hardly begun to en-
gage your attention. The business, to which you are here des-
tined, is all marked out, and methodised to your hands ; and
can all be done without any intrusion upon those seasons, which
are necessary for the purposes of religion. All men have, indeed,
at every period of life leisure, really sufficient for these purposes ;
but, to most, tJie cares of this ivorld and the deceitfidness of rich-
es, honours, and pleasures, choTie the word, which might make
them wise to salvation, and render it unfruitful. But you have
ample, known, acknowledged opportunities for reading the word
of God ; religious meditation ; learning the state of your own
hearts : conversing with persons of piety ; frequenting your clos-
ets ; celebrating the ordinances of the sanctuary ; consecrating
yourselves to the service of God ; and performing the various, ac-
tive duties of Christianity.
At the same time, you are in a great measure safe from a per-
plexing and mischievous intrusion of another kind. Men, who
have entered into the bustle of this world, are exposed, whenever
they turn their attention to religious subjects, and commence at-
tempts to become Christians, to the continual intrusion of world-
ly thoughts, and worldly feelings. These thoughts and feelings,
even when most unwelcome, and when serious efforts are made
to exclude them, still force themselves into the mind ; and con-
tinually mingle with all its thoughts and emotions, of a religious
nature. The habit of dwelling upon worldly objects is so strong,
that the current of thinking and affection is continually returning
to this channel ; and the difficulty of diverting it into that, in which
162 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XI.
it ought to flow, becomes almost insurmountable. In this man-
ner the suppliant finds the world intruding into his prayers ; and,
when his petitions arc ascending to heaven, often perceives his
thoughts lagging behind them upon cartli. In this manner the
sacred season of the Sabbath, even to those who intend to keep
it holy, and to turn away their feet from fmdwg their own pleas-
lire, becomes a day half religious, and half secular: the soul now
struggling to lift its thoughts to God, and to seek eternal life ; and
now busily employed in reviewing its bargains, counting its gains,
lamenting its losses, planning its business, or projecting its amuse-
ments. In tJie house of God, the prayer and the psalm, are by
the mind, in this state, taken up by fragments ; while many, and
those often long, parentheses intervene, in which it wanders to
the ends of the earth after worldly objects. The sermon, also, is
half heard, and half unnoticed ; and very commonly all forgotten.
In this manner even Christians themselves carry much of the
week into the Sabbath, and but little of the Sabbath into the
week.
The effect of this state of things is only unhappy. The inter-
ests of the soul are rarely remembered, and scarcely felt. The
impressions, made by religious objects are few, feeble, and tran-
sient. The precepts and doctrines, the warnings and reproofs,
of the Scriptures barely touch the mind ; and, instead of enter-
ing deep into its affections, only skim over its surface. For a per-
son, thus situated, how little hope can be rationally indulged ?
Hardly can he be said even to have an ear to hear, or a heart to
understand. Instead of striving to enter in at the straight gate,
he can scarcely be supposed to know where it is.
From these evils, unless you choose to encounter them, you
are in a great measure exempted. Your proper business is atten-
ded with no uncertainty ; and demands no contrivance on your
part, no solicitude concerning the means of performing it, or the
success with which it may be attended. It returns with perfect
regularity ; is always done in a stated manner ; and, when thus
done, is of course successful. Thus you have not only leisure
hours, returning daily, which you may devote to religious attain-
SER. XL] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 163
ments, but also minds, at leisure for every religious pursuit ;
thoughts which may be easily occupied ; affections which may be
easily engaged, about your eternal welfare.
Youth is also the best season for the performance of this duty,
because it is the season, at which it will he most acceptably per-
formed. The fact, that these books of Solomon were written pe-
culiarly for the benefit of those, who are Young, is itself ample
proof of this position. We know also, that youth is, in the or-
dinary course of nature, as much less corrupted than middle age,
as that age, than declining years. The beauty of early piety is
often acknowledged even by sinners ; and is regarded with pecu-
liar delight by good men. From the manner, in which the Scrip-
tures speak of Joseph, Samuel, Ahijah, Jabez, Josiah and Tim-
othy, there is abundant reason to believe, that it is an object of
peculiar complacency to the eye of God.
At the same time the greatest possible opportunity will in this
manner be enjoyed for serving God extensively ; if we live to
the utmost date of human life, of serving him long ; if not, of
serving him through the utmost period, which will be in our power.
All men will hereafter he rewarded according to their worJts.
The servant, who in the parable, with his pound gained ten
pounds, was made ruler over ten cities ; while he, who gained
Jive, was made ruler only of five cities. The person, whore-
members his Creator in the days of his youth, and who thus pos-
sesses the greatest opportunity of serving him, will of course en-
title himself to a superiour and very glorious reward, because he
has served God more than other men. This, however, is far from
being his whole advantage. He will serve him better, as well
as longer. He will have fewer sins of which he must repent,
and for which he must answer at the final day ; weaker passions
and appetites to overcome ; feebler temptations to resist ; and
fewer obstinate habits to break down : Hence, he will backslide
more rarely ; and make a more regular progress in the Christian
life. He will have less to lament on a dying bed ; and more to
rehearse with comfort, and hope, in his final account.
164 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XL
3dly. Future seasons will he comparatively unfavorable to
this duty.
Every day, you neglect this duty, you will advance in sin. You
began to sin against God, when you began to exert moral agen-
cy. From that time, your sins have increased both in number
and degree. The mass must, therefore, have been sufficiently
accumulated to alarm any eye, not already bhnded by profligacy.
Think, then, I beseech you, to what a size it will spread, and to
what a height it will grow, if you continue to heap up iniquity to
old age ; and what will be the record of your lives, when the
books shall be opened, out of which you will be judged.
At the same time, by continuing to sin you regularly harden
your hearts against reformation. The very gratifications, by
which you have been tempted to evil, become more and more
loved, because they have been loved long, and enjoyed often.
Thus the sot relishes ardent spirits much more intensely, than he
did in the early stages of his career of intemperance ; and is
with far more difficulty, withdrawn, if indeed he can be at all
withdrawn, from this fatal indulgence of his taste.
But this is not all. We love practices as truly as the objects,
for which they are adopted. The thief loves to steal, as truly
as he loves the object, which he has stolen. The gambler loves
to game, as truly as the stake, for which he games. The em-
ployment, in each case is as truly relished, as the expected gain ;
and is the more relished, the longer it is continued, and the often-
er it is repeated. Thus the profane person loves to swear and
curse, though he gains nothing by it. Thus the liar loves to lie,
though he is sure of being a loser ; and the sabbath breaker, to
violate the sabbath at the expense of his character, and his soul.
In this manner are formed those, which we call evil habits ; the
effect of which is, universally, to harden the heart, to fix the soul
in a course of sin, and to hurry it onwards towards perdition.
Even this is not all. You will also harden your hearts by self-
justification. It is impossible for the mind to fail of being unea-
sy, when the conscience reproaches it with its sins. At first, this
uneasiness is great, and distressing, because the conscience is
SER. XL] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH, 165
then tender, and strongly susceptible of moral impressions.
From the sufferings, which it is thus compelled to endure, the
mind naturally seeks for relief; and gradually finds it in argu-
ments, employed to annihilate, or at least to lessen, its guilt ; in
sport and ridicule, summoned to fritter it away ; and in examples,
which quiet its fears, and strengthen it for future perpetrations.
That, which can be defended, or even palliated always appear^
less alarming, than when it was thought absolutely indefensible.
That, which can be laughed at, ceases to alarm at all ; and that,
which is done by others, it is readily believed, may be done by
one's self with some degree of safety. To be no worse than
others, is, in the view of most persons, to be in no very dangerous
or distressing circumstances.
Thus, although the soul was terrified by the first sin, yet with
these sources of justification in its possession it becomes quiet
under the second ; proceeds familiarly to the third ; and cheer-
fully commits the fourth.
While all these causes thus contribute to harden the heart ; it
derives, also, not a little consolation and support from the consid-
eration, that neither its own sins, nor those of others around it, are
either generally or obviously punished. All things in this world
substantially come alike to all ; and there is one event to the right'
eous and to the wicked. For this reason no man knoweth love, or
hatred^ by all that is before him. This, indeed, furnishes no solid
reason, why any man should encourage himself in sin. For^
though a sinner do evil an hundred times, and his days be prolon^
ged, yet shall it not be well with the wicked ; nor with him^ any
more than with the rest of the wicked. Yet it is true at the pres»
ent day, no less than in the time of Solomon, that " because sen-
tence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the
heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil." To
most persons the consciousness of safety, even now, becomes the
foundation of a strong and supporting hope, that they shall be
safe hereafter.
On all these accounts the periods of life which succeed youth,
and that of old age especially, are, as they are styled in the text.
Vol. II. 22
166 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XI.
evil days : not only uncomfortable, but peculiarly unfavourable
to the duty of remembering God, and the attainment of salvation.
4thly. These Seasons may never arrive.
You have already seen, that, if they should actually arrive, and
you should live to old age, your prospects of performing this
duty would continually lessen. The danger is not only real, but
great, that your views of all spiritual objects would become more
erroneous ; your meditations on them more unfrequent, and un-
interesting ; your affections more obtuse, and worldly ; your
hearts more callous to religious impressions ; your consciences
more enervated ; your thoughts more distracted both by business,
and pleasure ; and your hopes more dim, distant, and fading.
But what right have you to satisfy yourselves, that such seasons
will ever arrive to yoii ? The uncertainty of human life is so pal-
pable, that, independently of the immense importance of the
subject, all observations concerning it would long since have
ceased to interest the mind, and become as dull and tedious, as
a string of vulgar proverbs. It is written in almost every chap-
ter of the Bible. It is inscribed by the finger of God on almost
every page of his providence.
Nor is life less uncertain to youth, than to manhood ; nor to
the most promising youths, than to the dullest ; nor to the gay-
est, than to the most gloomy ; nor to those, who assure them-
selves of the most days, and the best, than to the disconsolate
and desponding.
Go to yonder burying-ground ; and read the inscriptions, en-
graved on the monuments of the dead. How often will you find
them announcing, that those who sleep beneath, entered these
solitary chambers in the morning of life ? How often have you
yourselves already followed to the tomb the young, the sprightly,
the sportive; your own companions in life; nay, your own friends,
and seen them lodged in the dark and narrow house ! How often
have you seen them in the midst of cheerfulness, and activity, in
the full possession of health and vigor, full of hopes and gay with
briUiant prospects, promising themselves long life in the spright-
liest career of pleasure, and forming many coloured visions o(
SliR. XI.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH.
167
paridisiacal happiness in this world ; arrested by disease, stretch-
ed upon the bed of death, bidding a melancholy farewell to all
things here below, and summoned to their final account before
the bar of God ! How solemnly do these things admonish you,
that man knoweth not his time ! How affectingly do they prove,
" that as fishes are taken in an evil net, and as birds are caught
in a snare ; so the sons of men are snared in an evil time, when
it falleth suddenly upon them !"
But in so mighty a concern, in a duty of such immeasurable
importance, nothing ought to be left to hazard ; and especially
to a hazard so alarming. Where your all may be lost in a day,
an hour, or a moment, what folly, what madness, must it be to
postpone, even for the best reasons, the performance of a duty
on which that all depends ! But here you can allege no reasons.
The very sins, which you are here required to forsake, are them-
selves the only causes, why you do not forsake them. The very
sins, of which you are required to repent, are the preventives
of your repentance. The very dangers, which you are summon-
ed to shun, are themselves the reasons why you do not escape.
Miserable choice ! Deplorable determination ! Who, but for the
irresistible proof from experience, would believe, that rational
beings could refuse their own salvation, and be in love with ruin.
Think, I beseech you, what has become of your gay, deceased
companions : ponder with alarm and terror what is to become
of you.
SERMON XII.
THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING THE CREATOR IN YOUTH.-Sermon II.
Egclesiastes xii. 1.
Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy youth : while
the evil days come not^ nor the years draw nigh^ when thou shall
say^ " / have no pleasure in them.''''
In the preceding discourse, from this passage, I proposed,
I. To explain the Duty^ which is here enjoined ;
II. To suggest several Inducements to the performance of it ;
and
III. To mention several Reasons^ which usually prevent it from
being perfortned.
Under the first of these heads I observed,
1st. That to remember our Creator is to make him frequently,
an object of our thoughts.
2dly. To possess thoughts concerning him, which are true, and
just ; or such as are communicated by his Word and Works.
3dly. To remember him cordially ; or with supreme love, com-
placency, gratitude, reverence, and admiration.
4thly. To remember him practically ; or with universal confi-
dence, and obedience.
Under the second head, as Inducements to perform this duty
in Youth, I observed,
1st. That all the obligations, which require it of others, require
it of those who are Young :
2dly. That Youth is the best season for performing this duty :
Because it is in their possession ; Because their hearts are
SER. XIL] THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING, &c. 169
more tender, and susceptible of religious impressions, than they
will probably be at any future period ;
Because it is comparatively unoccupied by other objects ; and
Because it is the season, at which the duty will be most ac-
ceptably performed :
3dly. That future seasons will be comparatively unfavourable
to the performance ; and
4thly. That future seasons may never arrive.
I shall now proceed to the consideration of the third head of
discourse, proposed at that time ; viz.
To mention several Reasons^ which usually prevent this duty
from, being performed.
Notwithstanding these solemn and powerful reasons for re-
membering our Creator in the days of our youth, we cannot avoid
perceiving, that multitudes, (the greater part by far,) appear not
to remember him at that time, nor at any other. This fact, like
every other, has its causes. These operate in much the same
manner, wherever they exist : the nature of the mind, on which
they operate being substantially the same. They will, of course,
naturally prevent those, who are present, as well as others, from
performing this duty. It is, therefore, of no small importance,
that they should know, remember, and feel, the moral causes, or
reasons, which have this malignant influence ; that they may be
upon their guard, and as much as may be, overcome their perni-
cious efficacy.
Of these reasons the
1st. Which I shall mention^ is a bad Education.
Children are justly said to have a bad education, when they
are not taught early, often, and affectionately, to know and fear,
to remember and serve, God. The first impressions are prover-
bially regarded as the best, which are ever made. Impressions,
favourable to piety, cannot be effectually made without great care,
pains, and perseverance ; without frequent, solemn, affectionate in-
struction, counsel, exhortation, rebuke, reproof, alarms, and in-
junctions. Line must be given to children upon line, and precept
upon precept ; here a little.^ and there a little. Parents will in
170 THE DUTV OF REMEMBERING [SER. XII.
vain expect from their children the proper effects of instruction,
when communicated only in a single instance. Persons of ma-
ture age, in the full possession of their understanding, and at the
very best period for improvement, are not often very happily af-
fected by moral instruction, when only once communicated. How
much less can this be expected from children, who are so much
less capable of consideration ; who often misunderstand what
they are taught, and oftener understand it very imperfectly ;
whose thoughts are instinctively volatile, and wander away from
the instruction even at the very moment, when it is given, to al-
most every object by which they are surrounded ; and who must
be moulded into habits o{ receivings almost as much as of obeijing,
what they are taught. The parent, who has but once explained
to his children their duty, has done but a very little part of his
own.
Children must be instructed, as our Saviour instructed his dis-
ciples, by degrees, and as they are able to receive and bear it, pa-
tiently ; with a continual regard, and not a small one, to their
prejudices ; affectionately ; with many repetitions of the same in-
struction in many forms ; without fretfulness, imperiousness, mo-
roseness, or even austerity. Their instructions also, like those of
Christ, should be communicated in the plainest, simplest lan-
guage ; and continued unto the end. So far as education falls
short of an accordance with these characteristics, it is, either in
the positive or negative sense, bad.
At the same time, like the instructions of Christ, all the pre-
cepts given to children should be seen to have their proper influ-
ence on the life of the Teacher himself. He must shew, that he
believes what he wishes the child to beheve, and that he does
what he commands the child to do. In this manner the teacher
will prove himself to be in earnest. Otherwise, whatever labour,
and care, he may employ, his instructions will be in vain. Had
the apostles seen their Masters life contradict his precepts ; they
would never have become his disciples, nor hazarded their lives
by preaching the Gospel to mankind.
SER. XII.3 THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. HI
To these things should always be added, also, humble, fervent
prayer for the blessing of God on the instructions, which are ac-
tually given. Without this blessing, all human efforts will be to
no purpose. "Except the Lord build the house, they labour in
vain, that build it. Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman
Vi^aketh in vain." It will be in vain " to rise up early and sit up
late, and eat the bread of sorrows," with the hope of training up
children for God, without his blessing to render the exertions
which are made for this end efficacious. But this blessing will
not be given, unless we ask for it. In this case, only, will our
children be truly an heritage from the Lord.
Wherever these things are neglected, either partially or wholly,
children are so far badly educated : and parents, in this case,
will be obliged to remember with extreme regret, when they see
their children " forget the God that made them, and lightly es-
teem the Rock of their salvation," that their own misconduct,
their own unfaithfulness, has been, extensively, the cause of their
children's ruin.
I have observed above, that, susceptible as the mind is of
strong impressions in childhood, those, that are of a religious na-
ture cannot be made without great care, and pains. Good seed
can be sown with success, only by means of laborious cultivation.
With weeds the case is far otherwise. They spring up without
any culture, and become more vigorous, the more the soil is neg-
lected. The enemy ^ that sowed tares in the field, accomplished
this business, while men slept. When parents sleep over their
task, Satan always performs his. Neglected children always re-
ceive evil impressions of every kind, without number, and with a
power which it is not easy to limit. Such impressions their own
propensities prepare them strongly to receive. Such impressions,
every thing around them, every thing with which they corres-
pond, will continually make. Their commerce with the world,^
will fill them with evil thoughts, and desires ; will form them to
evil habits ; and will conduct them to evil practices. Neglected
children grow up to sin, of course: just as uncultivated ground
is covered with thorns and briers.
172 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. Xli
But neglect is not the only mode of bad education. Children
are sometimes directly taught to sin both by precept and exam-
ple. By the example, even of parents themselves, they are often
taught to be profane; and that in many forms ; to jest with things
of a sacred nature ; to ridicule them, and, universally, to treat
them with contempt ; to violate the sabbath ; to forget the sanc-
tuary ; to be lewd ; to become sots ; to lie ; to cheat ; and to
steal. All these evils, and many others, are at times, so promi-
nent in the conversation and conduct of parents, so continually ex-
hibited, and so gross in their appearance ; that a child, without a
miracle, can hardly fail of contamination. I need not tell you
how far such children must be from remembering their Creator.
There are, however, other modes, in which children are direct-
ly educated to sin, with respect to which a greater number of pa-
rents are guilty, and from which far greater numbers of children
are in danger. These, being much less gross, and much less ob-
vious to the eye, and particularly having been long and very ex-
tensively pursued by persons of reputation ; have acquired a kind
of sanction from custom, and a kind of ratification from the com-
mon agreement of decent society. All these may be involved in
one short description, viz. an education for this world.
Under this broad character, however, are to be ranged many
distinct and widely separated modes of procedure. Of these
two or three, only, can be mentioned at the present time.
Parents often teach their children that the acquisition of wealth
is the proper and commanding object of all their pursuits. This
they do, never perhaps, in express terms ; but in the general
tenor of their conversation, and conduct. Whenever they talk
seriously, they talk almost only about wealth, and the acquisition
of wealth. They exult before them in the good bargains, which
they have made, and lament the bad ones ; disclose their schemes
for making better : mourn over the bad state of markets ; pride
themselves in their property, particularly in. the superiority of
their circumstances to those of others ; speak contemptuously of
the poor ; panegyrize the rich ; and irresistibly as well as univer-
sally show, that in their view money ^ literally and absolutely, an-
SER. XII.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 173
swereth all things. How can children, before whom all this is
perpetually done, who see wealth thus idolized by their parents,
and nothing else considered as of any importance, fail of imbibing
from so venerable a source the same idolatry. When they are
thus early, and thus efficaciously, taught to serve Mammon ; how
can they be expected to serve, or even to remember God.
All these instructions, also, are enhanced by the conduct of
the parents. Often they expend their property with extreme re-
luctance, even for purposes plainly useful ; give with a grudging
hand, when they give at all, to the public, the stranger, and the
poor ; decry every liberal or charitable proposal ; and sneer con-
temptuously, and predict speedy beggary and ruin, concerning
every liberal and charitable man. On the other hand, they rise ear-
ly, and sit up late, and eat the bread of toil and care, to increase
their own possessions ; and in the language of their practice
cry, '■''give, give;''"' while neither their hearts, nor their tongues,
ever say, " It is enough.'''' How can the children of such parents
feel, as if they had any concern with death or eternity, with heav-
en or hell ? How can they remember God, when from the first
commencement of their understanding they see him totally for-
gotten by those, whom they most reverence and love ?
There are other parents, who in educating their children give
the same place to the objects of ambition, which those, whom I
have mentioned, allot to wealth. These destine their children to
popularity, fame, place, and power. These children are taught
perpetually, that their supreme good lies in outstripping others,
and acquiring in this manner the wreath of reputation. Genius,
talents, eloquence, are rung continually in their ears, as the
great instruments of achieving the coveted prize, and as posses-
sions, therefore, of inestimable value. The children, on the one
hand, learn to idolize these objects ; and under the influence of
parental dotage are easily persuaded, on the other, that them-
selves are the very caskets, in which these jewels are treasured
up by the hand of nature. Hence they become lamentably, and of-
ten insupportably, vain ; like the fabled Narcissus, they sicken with
the love of their own beauty ; and, like the more sottish national
Vol. H. 53
174 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XII
assembly of France^ dethrone Jehovah, and, making a Goddes:'
of their own reason, worship it in his stead.
Should the children of the former class of parents become
rich, beyond their most sanguine hopes ; what part of their
wealth would they carry with them into eternity ; and what dif-
ference would there be in the grave between them^ and the beg-
gar, who died under a hedge ? Should the children of the latter
class reach the pinnacle of fame, and the summit of power ; of
what use would their talents be, when they were summoned to
their final account ; and what sort of distinction would they pro-
cure them in the future world ? Before the Judge of the quick
and the dead., how melancholy must be the recital of talents wrap-
ped in a napkin, and buried in the earth ?
There are parents also, and, I am afraid, not less numerous
than either of the classes mentioned, who educate their children
to fashionable opinions, and practices. The supi'eme object of
these parents, and the object which their children are taught to
consider as supreme, is to have the children make an advanta-
geous appearance in the world. For this end they are taught,
with great care, and expense, what are called accomplishments :
such as fashionable manners, dancing, dressing, drawing, music,
and many other things of a similar nature. Their minds, in the
mean time, are furnished with little useful knowledge, with few
useful habits, and with no sound moral principles : for, unhappily,
such principles have rarely been fashionable. Of God, and reli-
gion, indeed, they must have heard ; but they have heard of them
as subjects of antiquated tales ; and never as objects of fashion,
nor as means of enabling themselves to make a graceful and
brilliant appearance. The conversationof both the parents, and
the cl.'ildren, turns chiefly, or wholly, upon the newest fashion of
dress, furniture, equipage, and manners, and upon the happy be-
ings, who by these things have acquired peculiar distinction in
the gay world : upon the last, or the next, amusement or party,
and the appearance, dresses, and accomplishments, of those who
were, or will be, present ; upon the last, or the next, play, the
scenery, and the actors ; and upon innumerable other trifles of
SER. XII.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 175
the same frivolous nature. The business of their hfe is to visit
the theatre, the drawing-room, and the card-table ; to dress ; to
dance ; to ride ; to frequent watering places ; to see shows ; and
to fritter away time in conversation upon these insignificant ob-
jects. Infatuated parents ! who thus train up those, whom they
professedly love, to objects of absolute insignificance ; who teach
them to cull straws, and feathers, and never think of conducting
them to any solid or enduring good. Unhappy children ! con-
verted by their own parents into intellectual butterflies ; and
taught to spend the summer of life in displaying their pinions to
fhe sun^ and sporting from one flower and sweet to another; till
the melancholy day arrives, when they can sport no more. Hap-
py would it be, could they know that there is a dismal winter ap-
proaching ; a frost, which will terminate their sport and splendour
forever.
How hopeless must children educated in this manner, be of
performing or even thinking of the duty enjoined in the text !
We may wish with any degree of ardency, but can never expect,
that a mind, thus formed, should remember its Creator ; or that
God would take up his residence in a temple, consecrated to
amusement and trifling, and filled with this senseless idolatry.
Children are to be educated to industry, and taught to make
the most of their talents. When it is in our power, they should
be educated to graceful manners, and pleasing accomplishments^
But, whatever else we do, we should " train them up in the nur-
ture and admonition of the Lord." The evil of these modes of
education lies supremely in the degree of importance^ which we
attach, and teach them to attach, to these objects : objects in an
absolute sense of little value, and in a comparative sense of none.
In this manner we educate them either to sordid avarice, and
equally sordid ambition ; or to a despicable, and sinful, frivolity of
mind. In all these cases we harden their hearts against Reli-
gion, and against God. We teach and help them to provide, in-
deed, for a hfe, that is bounded by a day ; for a character, which
will expire in the grave ; and for a body, soon to be devoured by
worms : but we give up their souls to endless beggary, shame,
176 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. Xlf,
and woe. God, whom we thus teach them to forget, will not
" remember them in the day, when he maketh up his jewels."
In that day, how deplorable will be the sight of parents who have
thus ruined their children, and children thus ruined by their par-
ents, going down together without consolation, and without
hope, to one common perdition.
2dly. Another cause^ which very extensively prevents the per-
formance of this duty^ is Evil Company.
After having discoursed so lately, and so extensively, upon this
subject, it would be tedious, as well as unnecessary, particularly
to consider it at the present time. I shall dimiss it, therefore, with
a few, brief observations.
Evil companions are found every where ; are always at hand ;
and are always at leisure for sin. At the same time, they love com-
pany in iniquity. Nay, it is absolutely necessary to their comfor-
table existence. Solitude renders them wretched : for it obliges
them to look into their own hearts, and to read over those dark
and dismal records of their lives, which Memory has written
down, and which at times she opens to the terrified eye of the
shrinking culprit. Such company, therefore, they seek with
anxious diligence, allure with every persuasive, and seduce with
every art. These companions root out every good, and implant
every evil, principle ; laugh and mock at every serious thought,
and thing ; recommend by argument exhortation, and exam-
ple, every wicked practice ; ensnare the soul, before its appre-
hensions are awake ; and harden the heart beyond the power of
every virtuous motive. The haunt, where they assemble, is the
way to hell ; going down to the chambers of death.
But the performance of this duty is not always prevented by
others. Those, who finally forget God, often owe this ruinous
sin chiefly to themselves. Indeed, they always owe much of it
to themselves ; for, were they faithful to themselves, it vvould be
beyond the power of others to accomplish their ruin. Many
causes of this class have a powerful efficacy to prevent the mind
from remembering its Creator. I observe, therefore,
*ER. XII.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 177
3dly. That Profaneness is another powerful cause of this evil.
Profaneness, beyond almost any thing else, hardens the soul
against reverence towards God, and the recollection of his char-
acter. When that glorious and fearful name, the Lord our
God, has been frequently profaned by us ; we acquire, of course,
a habit of thinking concerning this great and awful Being with
impious familiarity, and gross irreverence. All just and becom-
ing ideas concerning his solemn and tremendous character we
exclude from our minds. All loose and monstrous ones we ad-
mit, and cherish. From the infinite height, at which he sits en-
throned above all beings, we bring him down to our own level ;
and easily realize, that he is altogether such an one as ourselves.
In this manner w^e think of him so habitually, and so long, that
we forget to think of him in any other manner. God thus be-
comes, when we think of him at all, an object of sport, and a
butt of insult ; and is summoned into our thoughts only to be
treated with abuse, and contempt. No profane person remem-
-bers his Creator according to the meaning of the text. No pro-
fane person can remember his Creator. No profane person will
ever perform this duty, until his own character is radically chang-
ed ; and this black and dreadful stain is washed out of his soul.
4thly. Another cause of this evil, is Licentiousness of thought,
and conversation.
It is but too natural for the mind of man to indulge a licentious
imagination ; to roam in thought after the objects, by which it is
gratified ; to recollect the scenes, in which desires of this nature
have been let loose ; and to paint to itself imaginary scenes, still
more sensual and voluptuous. In this manner it is employed,
like an idiot, entering a city infected with the plague, and wan-
dering from house to house, to hunt after contagion.
Such a mind, however, is never satisfied with mere thought. It
betakes itself, of course, to the company of others, who love the
same employment. Here the children of perdition mutually com-
municate their thoughts in obscene and pestilential conversation.
Here they become mutually infected, tainted, and putrid, with a
moral plague. Here, every principle from which moral life might
178 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XII.
spring, sickens, and dies. Reproof, instruction, alarms, promises,
and all other means of religious impression, addressed to such a
mind, are addressed to the dead.
Even this is not felt to be sufficient. To pamper this rank dis-
position still more, it wanders after obscene books, and obscene
pictures ; engines, by which the enemies of God and man have
contrived extensively to people the regions of perdition.
Such a soul is a vault of death ; a receptacle of rottenness and
pollution. How evidently impossible is it, that " He, in whose
sight the Heavens are not clean," should dwell in such a man-
sion ; or that every thought concerning him should not instanta-
neously expire.
5thly. Another cause of this evil, furnished to the mind by it-
self is Levity.
Lightness of thought always gives birth to light and vain con-
versation : and such conversation in its turn begets and cherishes
hghtness of thought. Idle words of every kind, produce in the
soul an idle, vain, and in the moral sense frivolous, state of thought
and affection. They make it less serious, less attentive to its im-
mortal concerns, and less reverential to God. This is pre-emi-
nently true of all jesting with moral and sacred subjects. He
who can make sport of the Bible, the Sabbath, the house of God,
religious worship, the duties of Christianity, and persons of piety ;
will soon sport with God himself. Soon will he forget, that he
is a sinner, and infinitely needs forgiveness. Soon will he for-
get, that he has a soul to be saved ; and that, if it be not saved,
it must perish forever. Soon will he make a mock at sin ; lessen
his guilt ; and laugh out of his remembrance all his own obliga-
tions to become holy, and all his need of eternal life. The soul
of such a man is as effectually intoxicated by sport, as a drunkard
by ardent spirits ; and loses as effectually all its powers of ration-
al thought and affection. More and more insensible both to his
duty and his interest, he finally becomes in the spiritual sense q.
mere sot ; on whom arguments, exhortations, and motives, how-
.ever earnestly urged, are employed in vain.
SER. XII.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 179
I have now finished the observations, which I proposed to
make under the three heads, mentioned at the beginning of this
discourse ; and will conclude with some solemn considerations,
addressed to young persons in this assembly.
God, my young friends, has, at the present time, committed
you to my care and instruction, as your minister. His language
to me, and to every other minister of the Gospel, is, " Son of man,
I have set thee a watchman unto the house of Israel. Therefore,
thou shalt hear the word at my mouth ; and warn them from me.
When I say unto the wicked, ' O wicked man, thou shalt surely
die ;' if thou dost not speak, to warn the wicked from his way,
that wicked man shall die in his iniquity ; but his blood will I re-
quire at thy hand. Nevertheless, if thou warn the wicked of his
way, that he turn from it, if he do not turn from his way, he shall
die in his iniquity ; but thou hast delivered thy soul. Say unto
them, ' As I live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death
of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from his way, and live.
Turn ye, turn ye, from your evil ways : for why will ye die, O
house of Israel.' "
Let me now in obedience to these awful injunctions, sufficient-
ly awful to make every minister tremble when he enters the desk,
warn the wicked in this house from their way, that they may turn
from it, and save their souls alive. But, however this event may
•be, let me be faithful, and deliver my own soul : and, whether you
hear, or whether you forbear, let not your blood be required at my
hand.
In these discourses you have heard the duty of remembering
your Creator in the days of your youth explained ; solemn rea-
sons alleged for your faithful performance of it ; and several un-
happy causes illustrated, which very often prevent it from being
performed. Let me now endeavour to impress all these things
upon your consciences; and, if possible, persuade you, that they
are directed personally to you.
I ask you, then, Have you remembered your Creator in the
days of your youth ? If you answer this solemn question with
the frankness, which it demands, most of you will tell me, that
1 80 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XII.
you have remembered the world, pleasure, and sin ; but " have
forgotten the God, that made you, and lightly esteemed the Rock
of your Salvation." Many of you prove, that this must be your
true answer by the eagerness, and constancy, with which you tri-
fle away this golden period of life in pleasure, folly, and sin ; some
of yjju, by a stupid, shameful inattention to your salvation, and
your ruin, in the house of God ; and some of you by sleeping the
sleep of death at the foot of the cross. This is language, which
a child cannot misconstrue.
I ask again, When do you design to perform this duty ? You
will probably reply, " At some future season, which, you intend,
shail be more convenient ; when you shall be less engrossed by
the objects of the present life ; when your relish for pleasure shall
be blunted ; and when your minds shall be more at leisure for the
concerns of eternity." Are you sure that such a time will come?
Are you sure that death will not first come, and blast every hope
of this nature ? Are you sure that God will not say to you, as he
said to Hananiah by the mouth of his prophet, " This year thou
shalt die !" Nay, that he will not say to you, as to the Rich man
in the parable, " This night thy soul shall be required of thee !"
Should this be done ; what will be your condition ?
But, should you be permitted to live, have you any sohd rea-
sons to believe, that the day of reformation will ever be nearer,
than it is now ; particularly, that it will be brought nearer by
your procrastination : that thief, which steals away not only your
time, but your conscientiousness, your serious impressions, your
resolutions ; nay even your thoughts of amendment, and your
hopes of salvation. Will you not then be absorbed by avarice
and ambition, as you are now by pleasure ? Be not deceived :
old age, nay, middle age ; is an inauspicious, unhappy day for
repentance.
What are the reasons, why you do not now remember your Cre-
ator? Your own lusts; the enjoyments of this world; the temp-
tations, which you spread before yourselves ; the snares, set for
you by others ; evil communications, and evil examples. Will
not these have the same influence upon you, hereafter, which they
SER. Xli.] THE CREATOR IN VOUTH. 181
now have ? Will not their dominion over you be even more en-
tire ? Will you not become more and more absolutely the bond-
slaves of sin, and of Satan ?
Look at those, who have gone before you. How evidently are
most of them swallowed up in care, toil, and anxiety ; the fear of
poverty ; the love of place and power ; sordid covetousness ; and
the gross indulgence of sensuality. Examine them, man by man.
Which of them do you see moved by religious considerations ;
deserting his pleasures ; and renouncing his sins ? Who among
them remembers God ; seeks his face ; or strives to enter in at
the strait gate ? Who among them, while Death is advancing to
his door, takes the alarm ? Mark the miser, with one foot in the
grave ; and you will see, that, instead of shuddering at the sight
of this melancholy mansion, his mind is wholly engrossed by new
bargains, and new gains. Mark the whole host of veterans in the
service of iniquity. Do they not become daily more stupid, hard-
ened, and wicked. What one of them remembers God ? Is not
their day an evil day to them ? Do not you discern it to be an
evil day ? Believe me, my young friends, grey haired sin is most
obstinate sin ; and grey haired repentance is a strange and soli-
tary repentance. Who would hazard his soul upon such a plank ?
Who would venture upon a gulf, where, ordinarily, nothing is
found but shipwreck ; and where the shores have long been whi-
tened by the bones of those, who were lost ?
Some of you have, not improbably, grown up with few, or no,
religious instructions. Your parents, in several instances perhaps,
have been so busied in acquiring wealth, that they could not find
time to provide for your salvation ; nor even to ask it at the hands
of God. This is, indeed, a melancholy case. Your parents have
failed of their first duty ; and you have lost your best privileges.
If good impressions have not, bad impressions have, been made
upon your hearts, while they were most tender and susceptible.
Probably you have not been driven, but weaned, from heaven ;
have been taught to sin by example, and been left to it by negli-
gence ; have never learned to remember God ; but by the sight of
business, bustle, and pleasure, have been persuaded to say to him,
Vol. II. 24
i
1S2 THE DUTY OF REMEMBERING [SER. XII.
" Depart from us : f(»r we desire not the knowledge of thy ways."
In a word, you are now suffering the very evils, which have been
mentioned in this discourse, as flowing from a bad education.
But, unhappy as this case is, it is not of course desperate. The
Avays of God " are not our ways ; neither are his thoughts our
thoughts." He may look upon your calamities with an eye of
peculiar compassion ; may exert towards you peculiar long suffer-
ing ; and may spread before you in his Providence peculiar mo-
tives to repentance. He took Ahijah to himself from the palace
of Jeroboam^ from the side of the golden calf in Bethel^ and from
the foot of its altar. Surely, then, there is hope for you. Awake
from the sleep of sin, and death ; and " lay hold on eternal life."
Feel all the dangers of your situation ; the inestimable worth of
your souls ; the incomprehensible importance of the means of
grace, and the day of repentance. Remember, that God is more
angry with you, every day, for every sin ; and that at no distant
time, if you continue to harden your hearts, he will " swear in his
wrath, that you shall not see his rest."
Others of you have had a happier lot ; have had religious pa-
rents ; and have been instructed by them in the fear of God, and
the knowledge of your duty. You have also seen, in the unde-
ceiving evidence of their lives, that they believed the doctrines
which they taught, and loved the precepts which they enjoined.
What has been the issue of these privileges ? God has " put into
your hands a price, to get wisdom." How plainly have you been
destitute of a heart to the divine attainment ! How obviously
have you devoted yourselves to worldly pleasure ; forgotten God ;
lightly esteemed Christ ; trifled with your duty ; and disregarded
your souls ! How often have you profaned the Sabbath ; idled,
and slept, away the solemn season, consecrated to the worship of
God \ and turned a deaf ear to the^ thunders of the law, and the
invitations of the Gospel ! How regularly have you hardened
your hearts against the reproofs of your parents ; the solemn
warnings of the desk ; the threatenings of the Scriptures ; the
alarms of Providence ; the invasions of disease ; and the knell of
death ! How foolishly have you flattered yourselves, that you
SER. XII.] THE CREATOR IN YOUTH. 183
could '\hide in secret places," so that God could not see you ; and
said, that " the darkness should cover" your sins from his sight ;
voluntarily forgetting, that he " fills heaven and earth" with his
presence, and that " the darkness and the light are both alike to
him."
Look back on all your past life ; and see whether there is any
thing which your consciences can remember with comfort, or even
with hope. Is not the whole volume a blank of good ; and filled
up with evil ? A cumbrous record, written out only in melan-
choly lines of sin and shame : a story of guilt ; of hatred, and
forgetfulness, of your Maker ; of crimes perpetrated, and duties
left undone ; of sabbaths wasted, and a sanctuary profaned ; of
heaven refused, and souls cast away 1 This volume must be read
before God. All these things will be rehearsed to you, and con-
fessed by you, in the judgment ; and will constitute a part of
those works, according to which you will be judged.
If this be your situation ; your peculiar privileges will only ag-
gravate your guilt, and your condemnation. You will have
known your Lord''s will, and done it not ; and will, therefore, he
beaten with many stripes..
Awake, then, to a sense of your danger. See Satan, the world,
evil companions, and many temptations, all labouring to destroy
you ; God labouring to prevent your destruction : and yourselves
uniting with his enemies, to accomplish your ruin. How long do
you believe he will permit this controversy to be carried on ?
How long will it be before he will say of you, " Ephraim is joined
to idols : let him alone ?"
SERMON XIII.
THE YOUTH OF NAIN.
Luke vii. 11 — 15.
And it came to pass the day after ^ that he went into a city cal-
led Nain^ and many of his disciples went with hiniy and much
people.
Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold thei^e
was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother ; and she
was a widow ; and much people of the city was with her.
And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and
said unto her, " Weep not."''
And he came, and touched the bier ; and they that bare him
stood still. And, he said. Young man, " / say unto thee Arise.'''
And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And he
delivered him to his mother.
In the preceding part of this chapter we are informed, that
our Saviour, entering into Capernaum, was intreated by a Cen-
turion, distinguished for his unrivalled faith and piety, to heal his
sick servant. He accordingly healed him. The next day he left
Capernaum, to perform the duties of his ministry in other places.
In his progress he passed through Nain, a city near to Mount Ta-
bor, and six miles from Nazareth. As he came nigh to the gate,
he met a funeral procession, following a youth to his burial.
This youth was an only son ; and his mother was a widow. The
family, it would seem, was greatly respected by the citizens; and
the event excited an uncommon degree of sympathy ; for we
are told, that much people of the city g.ccompanied the mourn-
ing parent to the grave of her son..
TiER. XIII.] THE YOUTH OF NAIN. 185
Our Lord, whose tenderness was supreme, and whose benevo-
lence was manifested on every proper occasion, was moved with
compassion at the sight of this afflicted mother ; and directed
her to weep no more. Having said this, he came, and touched
the bier ; upon which the bearers stood still. Then, with a so-
lemnity, and authority, suited to his own character, and exhibited
by him on every important occasion, he said, " Young man, 1
say unto thee, Arise." Accordingly he arose, and sat up, and
began to speak. Our Lord then delivered him to his mother.
We cannot wonder, that a miracle of such a nature, perform-
ed before such a concourse, should be followed by great fear in
all those who were witnesses of it ; that they should glorify God ;
that they should cry out, " A great prophet has arisen up among
us, and God has visited his people ;" or that the fame of this glo-
rious transaction, and its divine author, should suddenly " spread
throughout all Judea, and throughout all the region round about."
This is the first instance, in which Christ exhibited to the world
the life-giving power, challenged by him in the 5th chapter of
John as his personal prerogative. " As the father," saith he,
" raiseth up, and quickeneth, even so the Son quickeneth," that
is, giveth life to, " whomsoever he will." This stupendous pow-
er he afterwards exercised in various instances ; particularly on
the daughter of Jairus, on Lazarus, and on himself.
This story is in many respects interesting and instructive.
The very manner, in which it is related, is remarkably beautiful
and affecting. It is told with the utmost degree of that simplici-
ty, which is a prime ingredient in all fine narration. The cir-
cumstances are selected with singular felicity, and are pre-emi-
nently fitted to touch the heart. The miracle itself was of the
most glorious kind conceivable. It was equally wonderful and
benevolent. It was the first fruit of that divine power, which
will hereafter be displayed in a manner still more awful and ama-
zing at the final day : " when all, that are in their graves, shall
hear the voice of the Son of man, and shall come forth ; they,
that have done good, to the resurrection of hfe ; and they, that
have done evil, to the resurrection of damnation," It was a
J 86 THE YOUTH OF NAIN. [SER. XHI.
miracle, clear of all objections. The occasion was casual. No
concert between Christ and the people can be supposed. No
harmony of designs, or wishes, can be suspected. The miracle
was performed in the most public manner, before a great assem-
bly, composed of those, who were either indifferent, or hostile, to
the character of the Redeemer. The event was unexceptiona-
hly miraculous. The youth was dead ; and was summoned back
to life by a command. The facts were seen by this great multi-
tude ; and were acknowledged by them in a manner solemn, re-
ligious, and unequivocal. One would think, therefore, that the
transaction would be received at once as a proof of the mission,
and the divinity of our Saviour.
My intention, however, is, to derive from this narrative a train
of considerations, widely different from all these. I propose in
this discourse to consider the miracle in question as a work of
Christ, strongly symbolical of one much more interesting, which
by his Spirit he performs on various persons, generally in the
same circumstances, as this young man.
There is a death, which all young men die in the present world ;
a state of the soul, which God himself has thought it proper to
call by this name. He declares mankind to be " dead in tres-
passes and sins." There is a hfe, which some of them obtain ;
a spiritual life ; the beginning, and the security, of life immortal.
To all these Christ is the source of life as truly, as to the youth of
Nain. From him must they receive it, if they receive it at all ;
fiom the same compassionate Saviour, who, passing by, sees them
spiritually dead, and says to each of them, " Young man, I say
unto thee. Arise." With this design I shall address to the assem-
bly before me the following considerations.
1st. Every youths who is thus raised to life, is, before this res-
urrection, spiritually dead.
By this I intend, that all such youths are impenitent, unbeliev-
ing, sinners. This is the true character, the real condition, of
every youth in this assembly, who has not been raised to spiritual
life. It is not here intended, merely, that you are impenitent and
unbelieving. It is further intended, that you are permanently of
SER. XIII.] THE YOUTH OF NAIN. 187
this character ; that you are fixed, and obstinate ; that you have
a hard heart, and a Wind mind ; a heart hard, a mind Wind, in
its very nature. The universal state of your views, affections,
and conduct, is a steady aUenation from God, an immoveable op-
position to his pleasure. You are not casually sinners ; yielding
to sudden and powerful temptation, in the weak, unguarded
hour, and in circumstances pecuharly dangerous. You are sin-
ners of design ; of contrivance ; with premeditation ; from habit ;
and without mixture.
Do you receive this charge as untrue, as unkind, or even as
doubtful ? Look back, I beseech you, upon the whole course of
your lives ; and tell me, if you can remember a single day, in
which you have faithfully obeyed God, believed in the Redeemer,
or repented of your sins. If you answer honestly, you will con-
fess, in spite of all your wishes to the contrary, that there has
been no such day in your lives. Let me ask you further, can you
remember a single instance, in which you have performed either
of these duties? Has there been a single hour in your lives, in
which you have experienced such views and affections, as the
Scriptures declare to be the true characteristics of the children
of God ? Have you ever for a moment loved God with all the
heart ? Have you ever chosen Christ as your Saviour, and with
cheerful confidence given yourselves to him as his disciples.
Have you ever loved to hear his voice, to walk faithfully in his
ordinances, and humbly to follow his example. Have you ever
hated sin, mourned for it, confessed it before God, and resolved
to forsake it ? Have you actually and intentionally forsaken it
for a single hour ?
Have you ever esteemed the Sabbath a delight, and the Sanc-
tuary honourable P Have you ever, even once, entered your
closets, shut the door, and prayed to your Father, who is in se-
cret ? Is there in the book, out of which you will be judged, a
single faithful, fervent prayer of yours recorded ; a prayer, which
you will be able to rehearse, and God to acknowledge, at the final
dav ? .
188 THE YOUTH OF NAIN. [SER. XIII,
If these things have ever been true of you, even for a single
hour ; they are true of you now. You are now sincere penitents,
sincere believers, and real children of God. Were God, by an
audible voice from heaven to answer these questions; what, think
you, would be his tcslirnony ? How will they be answered at
that judgment, which will determine the state of your souls for-
ever ? Should that judgment begin this day ; would not these
very considerations fill your minds with amazement and horror?
You have been often reproved. In what manner have you re-
ceived this reproof? Have you received it with tenderness and
submission, with sorrow for your transgressions and serious de-
terminations to sin no more ? Or have you been indifferent ;
stupid ; your heads laid down to sleep ; and your minds destitute
of all concern about your salvation, and all regard to your Ma-
ker, and Redeemer? Have you not in your own view " harden-
ed your necks, and deserved to be suddenly destroyed, and that
without remedy ?"
I am not proposing the case of strangers. The character be-
longs eminently to you. No assembly of youths probably con-
tains and exhibits higher proofs of these truths, than this. Your
advantages for attaining spiritual life have been exceeded by
none. The instructions, calls, warnings and reproofs, of the
Scriptures have been often, and most solemnly, repeated to you.
You have had " line upon line, and precept upon precept." What
has been their effect ? What has God seen it to be ?
I am neither disposed to deny, nor to doubt, that some of you
may, at times, have been solemnized ; or that some of you may
in a slight degree, and for a short period, have meditated on a
change of life. You may in such cases have wondered at your
former stupidity ; and seriously thought, perhaps resolved, to be-
gin the work of salvation. All this, however, you have spon for-
gotten. Again you have betaken yourselves to the same courses
of sin ; cherished the same lusts ; yielded to the same tismpta-
tions ; and given yourselves up to the same hardness of heart.
Some of you, probably, have not advanced even so far as this ;
but in an uniform, quiet course of wickedness have heard, but not
SER. XIIL] THE YOUTH OF NAIN. 189
attended ; have thought but without emotion ; and have pursued
sin, without an alarm, a resolve, or even a solemn reflection. Al-
most all of you, (and to your own consciencs be the appeal for
the truth of the charge) are mere children of this world. Instead
of being seriously concerned for your salvation, you are not even
thoughtful : instead of repenting, you sin with new eagerness :
instead of believing in Christ, you treat him with contempt: in-
stead of yielding to the life-giving influence of the Spirit of grace,
" you always," like the Jews of old, " resist the Holy Ghost :" in-
stead of " loving God with aU the heart, and soul, and strength,
and mind," you say to him daily, " Depart from us : for we desire
not the knowledge of thy ways." In the house of God your true
character is discovered, with an evidence which cannot be ques-
tioned. The holy, heavenly, season, which God has mercifully
appointed for the attainment of eternaUife, you spend in a man-
ner, which unanswerably proves your ignorance, your voluntary
forgetfulness, that " God is in very deed in this place." Imme-
diately beneath the all-searching eye of Him, who has command-
ed you to keep the Sabbath holy, and to reverence the sanctuary,
you quietly lie down to sleep ; or wake, only to loll, to sport, to
stare, to whisper, and to wander in your thoughts and affections,
with " the fool's eyes, to the ends of the earth." In all these
ways you proclaim to every observing eye your absolute disregard
to God and your own souls, to life and death, to heaven and hell.
Nor is this your conduct at times only ; under the pressure of
peculiar temptation ; or in seasons of peculiar languor and stu-
pidity. It is repeated from week to week, and from the begin-
ning of the year to its end. The Sabbath has always found you
thus stupid and worldly. These walls have always witnessed this
wretched course of sin, from the time when you first entered
them. The God, who inhabits them, will be a tremendous wit-
ness, that these declarations are true, at the final day. How evi-
dently, while continuing in this deplorable state, are you " with-
out God, and without hope, in the world."
Among the evils, which attend your miserable condition, none
is immediately more dreadful than this ; You know neither your
Vol. II. 25
190 tHE YOUTH OF NAIN! tSEK. XIII,
guilt, nor your danger. Nay, you are utterly unwilling to be in-
formed of your situation ; or to believe the information, when it
is given. You say daily in your hearts, with the church of La-
odicea^ " I am rich, and increased with goods, and have need of
nothing:" and, like the members of that church also, " know not,
that you are wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and
naked." Christ with infinite compassion has called you, from the
morning of life, to faith and repentance. He is even now saying,
" How often would I have gathered you, as a hen gathereth her
chickens under her wings ; but ye would not." The day is has-
tening, when you will hear him proclaim with a voice of thunder,
" Because I have called, and ye refused ; I have stretched out my
hand, and no man regarded : but ye have set at naught all my
counsel, and would none of my reproof : I also will laugh at your
calamity ; I will mock when your fear cometh ; when your fear
cometh as desolation, and your destruction as a whirlwind ; when
distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon
me, but I will not answer ; they shall seek me early, but they shall
not find me : for that they hated knowledge, and did not choose
the fear of the Lord." The day is coming, when you will sleep
beneath the eye of God no more. The day is coming, in which
you will neither sport, nor whisper, in his presence. Then you
will hsten, but not to the calls of mercy. Then you will " call to
the rocks, and to the mountains, to fall on you, and hide you from
the wrath of the Lamb."
In the spiritual death, with which you are afl^icted, there
is, in many particulars, a strong resemblance to what is
termed natural death. Of all those, who labour under incur-
able diseases, which mock the utmost skill of the physician,
and defy the power of the most balsamic remedies, we customa-
rily say, that they are gone. This we often say, while life yet re-
mains ; and while, perhaps, there are some means, unknown to
us, by which, if administered in season, they might still live.
There are also cases, in which, by swooning or by fits, life ap-
pears to have vanished, but in which by means of skilful applica-
tions it may nevertheless be restored. There are other cases still.
SER. XIII.] THE YOUTH OF NAIN. 191
in which it has finally departed ; and has left nothing behind, but
a corpse ; to which the animating principle will return no more.
All these diversities exist in spiritual death. Among those,
who are thus dead, there are some, who may be restored, if the
balsam of life should be administered in time by the great Physi-
cian. Of these it cannot be truly said, that all hopes of their res-
toration are gone forever. Of some there are hopes, that life
may yet return, and reanimate their souls. The remedy, howev-
er, lies not within the skill of man. Christ alone can save them
from dying forever.
But there are others, who are not only apparently, but finally,
dead. These, indeed, we are unable to distinguish from others,
who are in a state less desperate. Nor was it intended, nor is it
necessary, that we should thus distinguish them. Every one may
know, and if he open his eyes cannot but know, that, so long as
he exhibits no signs of returning life, he is now dead. His soul is
a corpse. Life has gone from it. It has become putrid ; loath-
some ; and, to the eye of God, " an abomination, which he can-
not away with." Should this continue to be its condition ; it will
soon be buried in the eternal grave ; the seat of endless darkness,
solitude and corruption. Who, let me ask, of the present assem-
bly is in this dreadful condition ?
You cannot say, you cannot believe, that you have not been
warned of your danger. Sabbath by sabbath you have been ad-
monished, in the presence of God, to awake from your sleep, and
arise from the dead that you might receive from the hands of
Christ the light of life. But you can say, and will one day be
forced to say, that "you have set at naught all this counsel of
God, and despised his reproof." In the presence of that awful
Being you loudly declare, that " you will not have him to reign
over you." " Who," you boldly ask, " is the Almighty, that we
should serve him ?" Of all this your conduct furnishes flaming
proof ; proof, which cannot be unseen, which cannot be mistaken.
Who, that sees you sleep, and whisper, and nod, and point to
others ; and laugh, and loll, and read books of diversion ; and do
any thing, and every thing, rather than spend your time in wor-
192 THE YOUTH OF NAIN. [SfiR. XHI.
shipping God, and seeking salvation, could imagine, that your
Creator, Preserver, and Judge, was present to see himself, his
Son, his Spirit, his Word, his Ordinances, thus insulted ? Who
could believe^ that these were creatures, now in a state of proba-
t'ron ; soon to die ; soon to be judged by that God ; and soon to
enter on a state of everlasting reward for this very conduct ?
Who, much more, could imagine, that every one of them per-
fectly knew all these awful truths ?
Who could believe, that every one of them had been taught
the doctrines and duties of Religion by the tenderest, and most
affectionate, of all human instructors ; their own beloved parents?
Who could believe, that they began to be taught the existence,,
character and presence, of God ; their own sin, danger and du-
ty ; the way of salvation by Christ ; the glory of heaven, and the
miseries of hell ; from the cradle ; and that, ever since they could
understand any thing of a moral nature, they have heard them
all repeated weekly in the house of their Maker ? Such, however,
has been the fact. They have all been thus taught, and repeat-
ed ; and your stupidity has long overcome them all. It is there-
fore, deep, fixed, and dreadful. It has been assumed also, and
cherished, in spite of all the blessings, in defiance of all the warn-
ings, of God's providence ; of your own dangers, distresses and
deliverances. You have been cultivated with no common care .
and have been reasonably expected to bring forth good and
abundant fruit. What reason have you to tremble, lest God
should speedily say ; nay lest he should now say ; " Behold these
three years I come, seeking fruit on this fig-tree, and find none.
Cut it down : why cumbereth it the ground V
II. There is still room to hope that among you there may in
the end he found some youths of Nain ; some, who, though noio
dead, and to the human eye lost and gone forever, may yet he
restored to life.
Christ is alway passing by, alway pursuing the glorious pur-
poses of his mercy. It cannot, I trust, be a presumptuous hope,
that towards some, towards at least a few of this assembly, he
may exercise his boundless compassion : and before they go
1
SER. XIII.] THE YOUTH OF NAIN. 193
hence, to be no more seen, and no more invited to embrace eter-
nal life, may say unto each of this little number, " Young man,
arise." It is true, you have long "denied him," and are now
" ashamed to confess him, before men." It is true, that you des-
pise his character, disregard his mission, reject his instructions,
disobey his precepts, and contemn his ordinances. It is true,
that you insult his goodness and mercy, trample on his cross, and
renew his agonies. But " the ways of Christ are not your ways.
As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are his ways higher
than your ways, and his thoughts than your thoughts." Hence,
notwithstanding all your rebellion, and all your stupidity he has
cried from the beginning, and still cries, " Seek ye the Lord,
while he may be found, call ye upon him, while he is near. Let
the wicked man forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his
thoughts, and let him return unto the Lord ; for he will have
mercy upon him, and to our God ; for he will abundantly par-
don." He died, with the complete foreknowledge of all the guilt
and grossness which I have rehearsed : yet he died. The Spirit
of Grace began to strive, with the same foreknowledge of the
same guilt. Still he strives with you. Still with a voice, sweeter
than that of angels, he whispers to you daily, " Turn ye, turn ye,
why will ye die ?" It is, therefore, no unreasonable thing to hope,
that, notwithstanding the blessings which you have abused, have
been very great, notwithstanding your sins are of no common
dye, Christ may still extend mercy to some of your number ; and
may say to one, and another, " Young man, arise."
But who shall these be ? Who shall be those, to whom he will
not say this ? Which of you is prepared to have him leave you
entirely ? During the ministry of Christ there were in Jndea many
youths, who died. Of these possibly not one was recalled to life.
Their dust was left by him to " return to the earth as it was, and
their spirits to ascend to God, who gave them." The allusion
needs no comment.
Suppose this glorious person, this divine Redeemer, to be once
more present in the world ; and to come into this assembly ; to
pass through yonder aisle ; and to say to one, and another, of
1 94 THE YOUTH OF NAIN. [SER. XIH.
the youths before me, " Young man, I say unto thee, Arise,"
What emotions would spring up in the minds of those, who were
neglected and forgotten ? Would you then loll in stupid inatten-
tion ; lay down your heads, as if benumbed with the torpor of
an opiate ; and sleep the sleep of Death ? Would you then turn
the house of God into a chamber of amusement ; cast a rolling
stare around the assembly ; whisper to one of your companions ;
laugh with another ; and play tricks with a third. Or would you
take out of your pockets a sportive book ; and waste the golden
hours of life over a play, or a novel ?
On the contrary, would not all the powers of your souls be
awake ? Would you not sit in dreadful suspense, till the solemn
calls were finished ; and in more dreadful agitation, when they
wore over : while Christ and hope withdrew together, to return
no more ? What an awful alarm would the very news, that he was
thus commg, sound in your ears ? How strongly would the ti-
dings resemble the sound of the last trumpet, calling to the dead
to awake to the final judgment. At his entrance, how would ev-
ery eye be fixed on him in solemn amazement, and bewildered
terror ? How would the ear listen, and labour, to catch his voice?
How would the heart of him, who was passed by, beat, and
throb, and heave, with agonizing throes, to behold one, and an-
other, and another, called ; and no sweet, life-giving sound ad-
dressed to himself? How fearfully would every new name seem
to be the last ; and leave on the mind no faint image of the des-
pair, awakened by the sentence of reprobation at the final day ?
But Christ is now present in this assembly. Hear his own
words, " Wherever two or three are met together in my name,
there am 1 in the midst of them." On this very design is he come.
His great business, here, is to call one and another from the dead.
He has in this land, he has in this Seminary, actually raised
multitudes from spiritual death ; and endued them with that life,
which is the beginning of immortal life in the heavens. In one
place, and another, immense multitudes have heard and obeyed
his voice. All these have opened their ears to inhale the enchant-
ing ^ound ; and cried out with ecstasy, " Lord, we will follow thee
whithersoever thou goest."
SER. XIII.J THE YOUTH OF NAIN. 195
But now no alarms are felt concerning the state of death and
ruin, so generally experienced. No voice reftriimates, no voice
awakens, this assembly. A paralytic torpor has seized on their
faculties; and stopped the current of consciousness, motion, and
life. In vain the law thunders the terrors of Mount Sinai. In
vain it proclaims the more awful terrors of the finul day. In vain
the Gospel sounds with the spirit of heaven. In vain the inhab-
itants of that world sing the celestial song, " Behold, I bring you
glad tidings of great joy, which shall be unto all people : for un-
to you is born, this day, in the city of David, a Saviour, who is
Christ the Lord." In vain this divine Saviour becomes incar-
nate, lives, and acts, heals the sick, cleanses the leper, and raises
the dead, before your eyes. In vain he presents his perfect ex-
ample : a glorious copy of the divine character ; a sun, without
a spot ; a heaven, without a cloud ; the splendour of immortal
and uncreated light. In vain he utters the wisdom, treasured up
from eternity in the Self existent Mind. In vain he agonizes in
the garden of Gethsemane, and sweats drops of blood. In vain
he ascends the cross, opens his wounds, and yields his spirit into
the hands of his Father. In vain he bursts the tomb, rises from
the dead, and ascends " to the right hand of the Majesty on
high." All this fails, not merely to engross the soul, but even to
rouse attention. The soul is asleep; the faculties are benumbed ;
the senses have lost their power of perception ; the heart has
forgotten to feel, and the pulse to beat. All around is a charnel
house ; a place of graves ; a region of silence, oblivion, and des-
pair. He, who beholds the scene, is tempted irresistibly to ex-
claim, " Can these dry bones live ?"
The joy of heaven over repenting sinners has ceased to be re-
newed here. From this Seminary no tidings of faith and repen-
tance, in those who inhabit its walls, reach the world above. In
that happy region, where the tidings of a returning sumer awa-
ken a sublime and universal festival, all is solemn silence con-
cerning us ; accompanied, perhaps, with a despair of seeing
their society enlarged by new accessions of sanctified minds, from
this once highly favoured place.
1 96 THE YOUTH OF NAIN. [SER. XHL
A small number of years, only, have passed away since this
Seminary was probably more distinguished for its piety, in pro-
portion to its numbers, than any other at that time, in the Chris-
tian world. Then this house was the most solemn, as well as
most delightful place, and contained the most interesting con-
gregation, which I have been permitted to behold. Then the
Word of God, the good seed from heaven, was sown upon " good
ground, and sprang up, and bore fruit, thirty, sixty, and an hun-
dred fold." It is now "a way side; a stony ground ;" a plat of
thorns and briers ; where the good seed cannot spring ; or where,
if it springs, it cannot grow.
Still there may be hope even concerning us. Our wilderness
may yet become a fruitful Jj eld. The heavens may again " drop
down from above •, the skies pour down righteousness ; and the
earth open, and bring forth salvation." Therefore, also now
saith the Lord, " Turn ye even to me, with all your heart, and
with fasting, and with weeping and with mourning, and rend your
hearts, and not your garments, and turn unto the Lord, your
God : for he is gracious, and merciful, slow to anger, and of
great kindness, and repenteth him of the evil." " Who know-
eth if he will return, and repent, and leave a blessing behind him?"
in. For the accomplishment of this great end ^ this restora-
tion to spiritual life ; it is indisjjen sable, that such, as desire to
be interested in it, should begin a total change of their conduct.
Look back upon your past lives ; and you will want nothing
to convince you, either of the truth, or the importance, of this
declaration. You will there see, that you have hitherto taken
no measures, no care, no thought, to obtain spiritual life. Were
Christ to be present, and to unfold your situation, would he not
of course declare, that, hitherto, you generally have not made
this mighty concern the subject even of solemn conversation ;
nay, not even of sober reflection. Recur to your thoughts con-
cerning it ; if you have indeed had such thoughts. How few
have they been ; how rare ; how momentary ; how fruitless !
Recur to your efforts. Can you realize, that any such have been
made? Can you tell what they were? Can you remember them?
SEK. XIII.] THK YOUTH OF NAIN. J97
Can you find them ? V" <<> your prayers. When were tiiey
ollbrcd up? Can you hi iJl llie times? Can you recollect iiio
places? When has the Rible l)een searched hy you for the words
of eternal life? When has Gon found you in your closets?
When has he heard you ask for mercy in his House? When have
you adopted solemn meditation ; formed serious resolutioi s; and
attempted a real amendment of your lives ? When have you re-
nounced the world ; quitted your evil companions; reliniuished
your sins ; and cast yourselves upon the mercy of Goo ? When
have you trembled at the a[)proach of perdition, and sighod, and
cried for deliverance from the wrath to come ? Wiien have you
turned your backs upon destruction, and your faces towards heav-
en ? Will not the single word. Never, be the true but melancholy
answer to all these questions ? Do not you yourselves see, that
you are spiritually dead, " dead in trespasses and sins," and, if
you continue your present conduct, without a hope of returning
life ? " Come from the four winds, O Breath, and breathe upon
these slain, that they may live."
But it is not enough for you to review your past life. Open
your eyes in solemn prospect on the scenes before you. Your
life will soon hasten to a close. You will soon be arrested by
your last sickness, and be laid upon the bed of death. Your
hearts will cease to beat ; your strength fail ; and your eyes be
closed in darkness. Your bodies will be carried to the grave ;
and your spirits will return to God who gave them. Think, I
beseech you, think what it will be to meet your .Judge ; to give
up your account ; and to enter upon your retribution. You will
not there meet the helpless babe of Bethlehem ; the man of sor-
rows ; the buffeted prisoner ; the victim of the cross ; the tenant
of the tomb. You will stand before " the Judge of the quick
and the dead, the blessed and only Potentate," seated on tlie
throne of the universe ; " from whose face the heavens and the
earth will flee away ;" whose smile will be heaven ; whose frown
will be hell. Your account will be the register of your life: your
trial will be final : your souls will be suspended on the process :
your eternity will tremble on its issue.
Vol. II. 2G
I
]g3 THE \OUriI OF NAIN. [SER. Xllf.
Of such a life, as you have actually led, what will, what must,
be your account ? Of the trial of such souls what must be the
issue ? When you have recited all your unbelief, your impeni-
tence, your rebellion, your impiety, and all the annals of your
gu'!t ; will this glorious person subjoin to the black and dismal
relioarsal, •' Well done, good and faithful servants ; enter ye into
the joy of 3our Lord ?" Will he take you to his arms ; and pre-
sent you to his Father, as his beloved friends and faithful disci-
: pies, who in this world have obe} ed his voice, and walked in all
\,his coiinnandmeuts and ordinances.^ Will he open to you the
[ gates oi heaven ; and conduct you to endless life, and glory in-
■ expressible ? Does it seem even to you, partial and biassed as
you arc, and judging in your own case, that this will be the re-
ward of such a life, as yours? I know the answer, which your
consciences will give. I know, that you yourselves believe the
case to be hopeless. It is impossible for you seriously to imagine,
that beings, polluted as you are, should be admitted, thus crim-
soned uith guilt, into the presence' of Ilim, " in whose sight the
heavens themselves are not clean." It is impossible for you to
believe, that " fulness of joy" should reward your impiety ; that
" pleasures for evermore" should flow for your enjoyment.
All the measures, which you have hitherto taken, have not ad-
vanced you a single step towards eternal life. You have not yet
entered " the straight and narrow way, which leads to that life."
IIow can you expect to find the gates of glory, which open at
its termination ? You have not yet begun to serve God here.
How can you expect either to be willing, or permitted, to " serve
him day and night in his" eternal " temple." You have not yet
begun to assume the temper of angels, or of " the spirits of just
men made perfect." IIow can you expect to become their com-
panions forever.
Alas ! you have entered, you have gone far, you are now rap-
idly hastening onward, in " the broad and crooked road, which
leads to destrtiction." In this progress your are satisfied; stupid;
gay; sportive; undisturbed by conscience; and regardless of
death, and the judgment. On the brink of perdition you sleep.
SER. XIII.] THE YOUTH OF NAIN. I99
The voice of mercy cries to you, " Awake, O sleeper ! and call
upon thy God." Half roused to consciousness, in the middle
point between life and death, you feebly exclaim, " Yet a little
sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to sleep."
The voice of judgment will soon pronounce, " He tliat is unjust,
let him be unjust still ; and he that is filthy, let him be filthy still."
Awake, then, " while it is called to day ; Arise ; Stand upon
your feet ;" ply the work of your salvation ; repent ; believe ;
escape for your lives : or the night will be upon you, in which
you will sleep, to wake no more.
i
s^:R:\iOX XIV.
CONSIDERATIONS IN ADVERSITY.-Sekmon I.
ECCLESIASTES VH. U.
In the day of adversity consider.
lU lUoday of adversity . undoubtedly intended - t);^ Pl»--
,,o.t naturally denotes, an,^ season of sufter.ng ^^;;^^^^
U.. of nroperty, health, friends, or any other trul) valuable en
iSln^itutes such a season . and calls ibr the duty, en-
: joined in the text. . j^
In such a season, we are required to consider J .
general in its import and includes a great variety of P^rf culars.
leTerally it intends, that we should apply our --s sobe, -
lemnly, and fixedly, to the contemplation of such thmg , ^s are
naturally offered to our view by the Providence of Gob , and by
such a 'contemplation that we should make them the means of
rPil ind enduring good to our souls,
HtlyoAUeri'y we are directed in t>>e Feced.ng
clause to ie joyful. It is plain, tlrercfore, that m the s.ght of
Gon a*Jc™'co,*cr is proper for men in ^^ffcraU seasons
a7arJs,ances ; and that such different conduct .s useful ^o
US and acceptable to Him. In adversity, it .s agreeable to h.s
Zk that we lay aside the cheerfulness which becomes prosper-
and endeavour to derive from our situation useful mstrucfons
and ulful impressions; solemn, but profitable ;su,.ed o the
Stat of an afflicted mind ; and fitted to make such a mmd w.ser
and b tter. Sobriety, sorrow, and mourning, are all proper
"ates of the human mind ; and are no less useful m then p ace
than loy and gratitude. Each of these, in its own place, rs fitted
SER. XIV.] CONSIDERATIONS, &c. 201
to produce real good to man. Prosperity naturally Icad.^ a good
mind to gratitude, and al^;o to repentance. Alilictions as natu-
'yally yield to such a mind " the peaceable fruits of righteousness.'^
That such consideration is, in such a season, our duty, we
know, because it is commanded. Our principal concern, then
with this subject must be to learn how to perform this duty, and
i to feel, fully, its high importance. I shall suggest therefore, in
this discourse,
I. Some of the proper subjects of consideration in a day oj
adversity; and ..^^
II. The .Motives to a faithful ptrformance of this duty.
I. I shall mention some of the proper subjects of consideration
iin the day of adversity.
Among these I shall notice
1st. The source of our afflictions : viz. God.
« I form the light, and create darkness ; I make peace," or
prosperity, " and create evil," or adversity. " I the Lord, do all
Uthese things." Isaiah xlv. 7th.
" Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it ?"
Amos iii. 6 th.
" Affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble
spring out of the ground." Job v. 6th.
The consideration, that Gou is the source of our afflictions,
furnishes us with many useful and affecting lessons. Particularly
we are taught by this solemn truth, that our afflictions are all
just, proper, and reasonable. In mere suffering there can be nei-
ther consolation, nor profit. Suffering, inflicted without a solid
cause, and a benevolent end, is the result of oppression only.
No man is fitted to derive good from this source. On the contra-
xy\ he is irresistibly impelled to resistance and hostihty ; or over-
whelmed bv depression, and despair. To the very existence of
those benefi'ts which afflictions produce, it is absolutely necessary,
that we should be convinced of the justice and reasonableness of
the infliction. The k.iowledge, that they come from God, is un-
answerable proof of the propriety and the equity of the painful
dispensation. -The Judge of all the earth," we know, « doth
.lt»
^02 COXSii ?.ATIONS [SKR. XIV.
right;*' and, therefore, liowcx-.r distressing our suflerings, we
arc sUiC that they are not iinjnst.
TVor are we less assvnod, thai oi(r ajjUclions are sent hi mcas-
t/rc, . >d in mercy. " Like as a Father pitieth his children, so
the T ^- d pitieth them that fear him. His mercies are greater
than 01 r sins ; they are above the heavens, and endure forever.
They are," also, " from generation to generation ;" and are of
course xperienced by every generation of mankind.
Piini}iJnnent is to him a strange worh. " He hath no pleasure
in the death" even " of the wicked ; but would rather, that he
would return, and repent, and live."
Hence, there can be nothing unkind, nothing oppressive, in his
dispensations ; however grievous, they may seem for the present.
On the contrary, they are the kind chastis'ements of the Father of
our sj^firits^ for onr good. They are, therefore, to be regarded,
v.= being infinitely dilTcrent from tliC cruelties of our fellow crea-
tures ; the wrath, revenge, and bitterness, often manifested by
them in fearful expressions of an evil disposition.
From these considerations it is further evident, that our afflic-
tions are necessary. We are froward, rebellious, disobedient,
children. We need to be chastised, to bring us to a disposition
conformed to the commands of our heavenly Father, and indis-
pensable to our well-being ; a disposition, without which we can-
not be happy, nor useful ; and without which we are unwilling to
suffer others to be happy. As our own children are brought from
rebellion and frowardness to obedience and sweetness of temper;
so are the children of our heavenly Father redeemed in the same
manner, and by the same means, to a filial and penitent state of
of mind, and to a virtuous and amiable life.
With these views, we cannot easily revolt, when we are afflic-
ted ; unless, like Ephraim, of old, we are become incorrigible,
and discourage even God himself from chastising us any longer.
2dly. Another subject of consideration to the afflicted is the
Procuring Cause of their afflictions.
Our Sins are this cause. We merit all that we receive'; and
much more. We are exceedingly guilty, wicked beings. Sin is
SER. XIV.] IN ADVERSITY. 203
a (Jrcadful evil ; far more hateful than we are willing to believe,
and especially to confess. Our own sins arc, also immensely
more numerous and aggravated, than we can be persuaded to
acknowledge, or admit. We therefore deserve at the hand of
God, great and distressing punishment. Of this we receive,
here, even in our most unhappy circumstances, a very little part.
" The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and plenteous
in mercy. He will not always chide ; nor will he keep his anger
forever. He hath not dealt with us after our sins nor rewar-
ded us according to our iniquities. For as the heaven is high
above the earth, so great is his mercy towards them that fear him.
As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our
transgressions from us. . Like as a father pitieth his children, so
the Lord pitieth them that fear him."
Sin is that abominable thing, which his soul hates. To remove
ius from our attachment to it, he uses innumerable methods; all
formed, and addled, by infinite wisdom and goodness. If we
do not, from a most blamable obstinacy, or an equally blamable
negligence, prevent their efficacy ; they will prove effectual to
the final extirpation of this fatal evil. But whether we yield to
Him and his providence, or not, He will never cease to regard
both sin and sinners, with abhorrence. Against it he will con-
tend in this world, and in that which is to come, with supreme
and unchangeable hatred and opposition. To it he will grant
no indulgence : from it he will never withdraw the rod of chas-
tisement. Unblamable virtue was never afflicted by God, except
in the person of Christ ; and then it was not afflicted for its own
sake ; but for the sake of those miserable sinners for whom he
died. All the good are loved by God ; and all are gloriously re-
warded throughout his vast kingdom. Such of them, indeed,
as are imperfectly good, will be often chastised ; but this is done,
only to make them better. "He smites them in his wrath for a
small moment; but with everlasting kindness will he have mercy
! on them. For the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to ever-
lasting upon theuj that fear him; and'his righteousness to chil-
dren's children."
oQ-i CONS^IDERATIONS [SER. XIV.
Wlicncvcr, ihcrefoie, we are afilictcd, let us say, with Dan-
iel, "Oh Lord, to us belongcth confusion of face, because wc
have sinned against thee. To the Lord, our God, belong mer-
cies and forgivenesses, though we have re'-elled against him,
Neither have wc obeyed thevoice of the Lord our Gou, to walk
in his laws, which he set before us by his servants, the prophets.''
Sdl}-. T/ic afflicted should also consider the End, for which
their afflictions are sent.
This is, generally, to " turn us from the error of our ways, that
we may save our s^uls alive." " The Father of our spirits" al-
ways chastises, according to the language of St. Paul, " for our
profit, that v.e may be partakers of his holiness." This end is
evidently the best of all 'ends : an end eminently divine, and
worthy of a God. Who, with a full conviction of this, as the
real end, can fail to " be in subjection to the Father of Spirits,
that he may live." -Must not this consideration produce patience,
submission, gratitude, and an universally filial character ? One
would think it an ample and abundant source of all those " peace-
able fruits of Righteousness," which are found by those, who
Txcver " despise the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when they
are rebuked of him."
4thly. The afflicted should also consider the Instructions, which
are communicated by their distresses.
These are very numerous, and all of them are important. A
few only can be now mentioned.
First. Afflictions teach us, that this world was not designed to
be a place of happiness.
This plain lesson is one of the most difficult to be learned by
us. We are, indeed, ready enough to acknowledge it to be true ;
but our acknowledgment, in most instances, comes from our
lips only, and not from our hearts. This is unanswerably proved
by our daily conduct. When we lose one enjoyment, we betake
ourselves to another ; and, when disappointed of the expected
happiness in one case, we turn speedily to another ; proving by
all, wiiicli v/e do, our belief, that there is real and sufficient good,
to be found somewhere ; although we have, hitherto, missed it
qo
SER. XIV.] IN ADVERSITY. ^05
in our search. Earth still is the darling object. The old man
shews this equally with the youth ; and grasps his bags and his
offices as eagerly, as the youth his pleasures and his fame. Even
the Christian is but partly iron ; the remainder of his composi-
tion is still clay. Firm at times, he is frail and crumbling at oth-
er times. He often lets go his hold on heaven ; and clings close-
ly to earth.
The vanity of all this conduct, and of the things which prompt
it, nothing teaches so effectually as Affliction. He, who has lost
his wealth, is more ready than ever before to feel, that " riches
take to themselves wings, and fly away." He, who has lost his
p ularity, power, and fame, is more willing than before to con-
fess, and to beheve, that it is unwise to put " trust in princes, or
in the sons of men," in whom there is neither faithfulness, nor
help. He, who has lost his beloved friends, and the children
who were " bone of his bone, and flesh of his flesh," learns, per-
haps for the first time, that the very Zi/e, on which the continu-
ance of these most dear enjoyments depended, " is but a vapour,
which appeareth for a fittle time, and then vanisheth away." He,
who has been deprived of his health, becomes easily convinced
that himself is but " dust, crushed before the moth ; and born to
trouble as" naturally, as " the sparks fly upward."
Thus we discern by the loss of enjoyment, that the things en-
joyed are frail, perishing, and utterly unfitted to be the firm
grounds of confidence to an immortal mind ; the objects, on
which it can safely and permanently rest ; the sources, whence
it can derive the happiness which it needs.
At times, all these truths are strongly impressed by a single
affliction. Especially is this the case, when the affliction is very
great, sudden and unexpected ; or when it befalls a mind pecu-
liarly tender and susceptible ; or when it comes in an hour of
uncommon feeling and solemnity. But more usually it is the re-
sult of successive chastisements to such gross, hard, forgetful,
sluggish hearts, as ours. When we see one blessing taken away
after another ; we naturafly begin to realize that this is not a
world of enjoyment, but a vale of tears •, that God did not des-
VoL. H. 27
206 CONSIDERATIONS [SER. XIV-
tine us here, to the happiness for which we were made, and for
which we feel irresistible desires, and a boundless capacity. Thus
are we taught, in that which is the only effectual method of in-
struction, this indispensable and most profitable lesson ; and thus
do we become finally convinced, that we are here mere proba-
tioners for another and better country, and have in this world no
abiding place. Hence we are led to feel as " pilgrims and stran-
gers on the earth," and to seek for our permanent residence, " a
city which hath foundations, whose Builder and Maker is God."
On this great lesson is grafted, inseparably, another which is
kindred to it ; the folly of our attachment to this world.
If the world be thus vain, we cannot but discern the folly of
placing our affections inordinately upon it. That, which is of
little worth, deserves little of our attention and attachment.
That which is fleeting and uncertain, however valuable otherwise,
must be of little worth ; and that, which is of little value in it-
self, and is also transient and precarious, is scarcely of any worth
at all. None but a fool, or a madman, can highly prize the most
beautiful and splendid bubble; which, though adorned with hues
of enchantment, dissolves at a touch, and is changed in a moment
into a mere drop of impure water.
Intimately connected with this truth is another of the same
useful nature ; the equal, or rather the enhanced, folly of our
anxieties and labours, to gain and secure so poor an inheritance
in such a world. Think not, that I object to an industrious pur-
suit of the things of this world. Industry in our respective call-
ings is the duty of us all. But industry, to be lawful, or useful,
must be pursued as a duty ; and not as an indulgence or instru-
ment of avarice, ambition, or sensuality. We must be industri-
ous, solely because God has commanded it ; because good will
result ffMH) it ; and because idleness will ruin us both in soul and
body ; and not because industry will make us rich, great, or pos-
sessed of sensual enjoyment. " Love not the world, neither the
things that are in the world : if any man love the world, the love
9f the Father is not in him."
<rER. XIV.] IN ADVERSITY. 207
The usual method, in which men are industrious, is a mere
obedience to " the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the
pride of life." This world is to most men the ultimate object.
Instead of labouring that they may serve God, obey his com-
mands, and become benefactors to those around them ; they la-
bour, solely, to gain an inheritance here ; confine all their cares
and anxieties to this side of the grave ; and think nothing of
God, duty, or eternal life. Thus they are without God in this
world, and without hope in the next.
The first great check, which this wordly, wretched spirit finds-
is a conviction, usually produced by mere suffering, that the world
itself is a poor, miserable, perishing possession ; in which the
good, they seek, can never be found. With this conviction they
easily learn, that they " labour for that which is not meat, and
spend their strength for that which satisfieth not ;" that they
have during all their preceding life, " been feeding on wind, and
snuffing up the east wind."
Hence they, also, naturally learn not to " set their affections
on things below," however delightful, and however endeared.
Property, power, fame, pleasure, friends, children, parents, hus-
bands, wives, health, and life itself, begin to lose their false value,
and deceitful charms. The world universally begins to wear a
new and juster appearance. Instead of the Paradise, which it
was originally believed to be, fraught with " every thing good for
food," beautiful to the eye, and " pleasant to the taste ;" it is now
discerned to be a mere wilderness, dry and thirsty, barren of real
good, perplexed with thorns and briers, and furnishing to the
longing soul no springs of life, no refuge, no home.
Secondly. Afflictions teach us, that our life, as well as our en-
joyments, is frail, uncertain and momemtary.
It may seem strange for me to suppose, that any man needs to
be taught this truth, after being taught it by every thing which
passes before his eyes, and by the testimony of God, and of al!
his fellow creatures. I do not, indeed, suppose any man igno-
rant of it ; or even doubtful concerning the proposition, as gen-
erally stated. Still I believe few men realize this truth, obvious
208 CONSIDERATIONS [SER. XIV.
as it is, with regard to themselves. That they may die, all will
acknowledge. Most feel, perhaps, in some degree or other, that,
at some distant period, they must die. But few, I suspect, feel
that death is near, and life uncertain, or even short. To most,
if we may trust the testimony of our eyes, or ears, a long life ap-
pears highly probable, if not absolutely secure. Most of the
Young promise themselves old age, and most of the aged, one.
or several years to come. In a few instances, solitary and tran-
sient, it is probable, that all men may believe death near and life
precarious ; but, in the usual current of thought they feel secure
of future days, and of many such days.
It would also seem, that no reasoning has sufficient power to
change this state of the mind ; at least none, which is actually
employed. We hear arguments ; allow their force ; and then
think, and feel and act, just as if they had never been alleged.
But what arguments cannot do, afflictions can. The sickness
of ourselves, when brought to the borders of the grave, or the
death of our friends, companions and children, beloved of us,
and necessary to our happiness is " a hand writing on the wall"
to the stupid, wordiy mind ; and presents before us in solemn, aw-
ful*, and irresistible language, " Thou art numbered, and finished."
We now begin to feel, as well as to know ; and, for a short time
at least, and in the moment of serious pondering, we discern
death really at the door ; and behold the grave opening to receive
us to its lonely and desolate mansions. This is the teaching, of
which I speak ; and which afflictions almost alone give. Our
former convictions had no practical influence. Our present in-
structions are of higher power, and happier efficacy. From them
often springs a change of our thoughts, our affijctions and our
conduct. Our belief becomes practical ; and often produces a
lasting and saving influence on our lives ; and, like David, we
find it " good for us to have been afflicted."
Thirdly. Afflictions teach us, that our probation is equally
transient.
Few of those, who believe the Scriptures at all, fail to believe,
generally and loosely, that life is a day of probation, on which
SER XIV.] IN ADVERSITY. 209
all their future being depends. By afflicted persons life begins
seriously to be thought to be such a day, when their afflictions
begin. In consequence of this new thought, a new train of think-
inir follows. All the work of salvation now first appears to
them to be future, and yet to be begun. They discern and feel,
that it must, if ever done, be done on this side of the grave.
Now they see God reconcilable to them. Now they hear the Sav-
iour invite them to lay hold on eternal life. Now " the Spirit and
the Bride say, Come ; and let him that heareth say come ; and'jet
him that is athirst come ; and, whosover will, let him take of the
water of life freely." Now the Word of life is in their hands.
But " in the grave, whither they go, there is no work, nor device,
nor knowledge, nor wisdom."
Life, therefore, begins now to seem to them of infinite value.
In life, if ever, the sou! is to be saved. If neglected now, it will
be neglected forever. Short and uncertain, as the period is, it is
the only period in which salvation is to be secured.
To the mind, in such a state, will naturally recur the thought
how much of life it has already lost. Salvation is not already
secured by those, of whom T especially speak. Of course, all
the preceding part of life has been wasted by them. This may
be almost the whole of life, and must be much of it ; infinitely
too much to have been thus lost and squandered, to have been
given to the world, the flesh and the devil, to sense and sin, to
guilt and perdition.
To such a mind will naturally rise up, in solemn and dreadful
remembrance the numerous Sabbaths, which it has lost, profaned
and abused : the ordinances, which it has neglected and despi-
sed ; the calls of mercy, to which it has turned a deaf ear, and
a hard heart ; the prayers and praises, in which it has steadily re-
fused to unite ; and the sermons, which it has neglected and
trampled under foot.
It will also remember with deep regret, how often and how
long the word of God has been left on the shelf, or in the clos-
et, unopened, unread, forgotten, and despised ; how many re-
hgious instructions it has cast away, ridiculed, and disobeyed ;
210 CONSIDERATIONS [SER. XIV.
and how many good resolutions it has formed, only to be viola-
ted, and to be left, as mere memorials of its folly and its sin.
At such a time, it is apt to feel how little it has done, and how
much it has had to do ; how barren a fig tree it has been in its
master's vineyard ; and how strongly it has provoked him to say,
" Cut it down ; why cumbereth it the ground."
To the Christian, all these instructions, so far as they are appli-
cable to him, are also given by afflictions. In addition to them,
he is most affectingly reminded how cold, stupid and unfruitful,
he has been in the service of his Lord ; how much of his heart,
his labours and his time, he has given to the world, and sin, and
folly, and shame ; how many opportunities of improving in all
Christian graces, and in the divine life, he has either wholly or
chiefly lost ; how many opportunities of doing good to the souls
of men, of honouring Christ, of glorifying God, of adorning
Christianity, of proving a blessing to himself and to mankind.
Every such opportunity will now naturally recur to him, as of
value mightily enhanced ; as most diligently and earnestly to be
employed : as eagerly to be seized, and carefully to be husband-
ed. He will see the world, and life, and talents, in a light,
which in various respects is new, and of increased importance.
The voice of affliction is to him the voice of God, calling
upon him for renewed diligence ; to consider life as only a time
of doing good ; and to feel that his duty is all, for which he was
sent into the world, and all, for which his residence in it is contin-
ued. Hence he will be quickened to greater and greater efforts ;
to lose no time ; to neglect no talent ; to pass by no opportunity
of doing all the good in his power ; and especially of promoting
the salvation of his fellow creatures.
Religion, and all the means, instructions, precepts and duties,
of it will now appear invested with a character and importance,
peculiarly solemn and affecting. Religion he will, with new and
enlightened vision, behold to be all, for which life is worth having
or enjoying ; the end of his creation, preservation and blessings ;
the source of his happiness, and his worth ; and the foundation
of all his hopes in the future world. Religion is, therefore, seen
SER. XIV.] IN ADVERSITY. 211
and felt to be his all. The world, to him more empty and worth-
less than before, appears now almost merely as a stage of action ;
a scene of duty. In performing this duty he will more than ever
intend to find his enjoyment ; and will fully realize that it is " more
blessed to give than to receive ;" to do good than to gain it.
All these instructions affliction also writes with " a pen of iron,
and the point of a diamond." They are engraved on the heart;
and are therefore long, and often indelibly, legible. They are
accordingly read daily and efficaciously. Like the instructions
of childhood, which survive all the changes of life, which are re-
membered and powerful, when all succeeding instructions have
vanished, they remain in strong and glowing characters, and pro-
duce mighty effects, long after they would be naturally supposed
to have been forgotten. Time, which effaces all other images,
often makes these brighter and stronger. The soul feels them in
every variation of its circumstances ; in every change of human
events ; and, recognising them in their full power on a dying bed,
carries them into eternity. There, not improbably they assume
new force ; are remembered as means, eminently kind and mer-
ciful, of its escape from sin, its assumption of holiness, its attain-
ment of a title to endless life, its renewed vigour and faithfulness
in the service of God, its increased beneficence to mankind, and
its supreme enjoyment of the divine favour and celestial glory,
throughout ages which cannot end. '
SERMON XV.
CONSIDERATIONS IN ADVERSITY.— Sermon II.
ECCLESIASTES vH. 14.
In the day of adversity consider.
In the former discourse, I proposed to notice,
I. Some of the proper Subjects of consideration, in the day of
adversity.
II. The Motives to a faithfid performance of this duty.
Under tlie first head, I considered
1st. The Source of our afHictions.
2dly. Their procuring Cause.
3dly. The End for v)hich they were sent: and
4thly. The Instructions communicated by them.
Among these I noticed,
First. That the world was not designed to be a place of hap-
piness.
Secondly. That life is frail, uncertain, and momentary.
Thirdly. That our Probation is equally transient.
In pursuing this subject I shall mention, as another important
instruction communicated by Afflictions ;
Fourthly. That the day of death, though always near, is still
absolutely uncertain.
This is a most profitable theme of consideration. " Boast not
thyself of to-morrow ;" says Solomon, " for thou knowest not what
a day may bring forth." No rule of life can be more obviously
just, and reasonable, than this ; yet no rule is more generally dis-
regarded. We are always boasting of to morrow ; always prom-
ising ourselves long life and good days.
-^ER. XV.] CONSIDERATIONS, &c. 213
How foolish and unreasonable is this overweening ! Were an
enemy at hand, prepared and determined to attack us, could we
justify ourselves in sleeping at our posts under the expectation,
that, because the time of assault was unknown to us, a long pe-
riod would of course intervene ? What soldier would be excused
by his Commander in such conduct, for such a reason ?
In the present case, infinitely more is depending. Our life,
our souls, our eternity, are at hazard. The arrival of death de-
termines the destiny of them all, and determines it finally.
Precisely the contrary conduct ought to be pursued by us to
that, which we actually pursue. As death is always near ; we
ought always to feel deeply this amazing concern. As death is
always uncertain ; we ought always to believe, and to feel, that
it is near ; that, instead of being more remote, it is nearer than
we most naturally believe ; that it may arrive to day, to morrow,
or the next day ; and that we are inexcusable and mad, if we
neglect to prepare ourselves for it, a single moment.
To this end it is not necessary, that we should neglect any
part of our worldly business, which our duty demands of us.
Every day, we waste time enough in unreasonable care about
the world, about riches, honours, and pleasures, or in idle, loiter-
ing, and useless amusement, to furnish ample opportunity for at-
tending efficaciously to the great business of preparing for death.
This wasted time, wasted in that which is of no profit to us, we
ought to devote to Religion. Every day furnishes sufficient op-
portunities for this purpose. The business of religious men is
not more apt to be neglected, or to decline, than that of other
men ; nor are they apparently more hurried, or perplexed ; nor
are they more uncomfortable, or more destitute of enjoyment.
But they husband life better ; and aim at more rational and sin-
cere enjoyments. If we comprehended the meaning of that me-
morable precept, " With all thy getting get understanding," and
were willing to obey it ; we should see that the salvation of the
soul might be easily secured, without neglecting any useful
worldly object.
Vol. II. 28
214 CONSIDERATIONS [SER. XV
To enforce this great duty upon ourselves, we ought steadily
to remember, that as death leaves us, so the judgment will find
us : that " it is appointed unto men once to die, and after that"
Cometh "the judgment." The judgment is immediately beyond
death. When " the dust returns to the earth as it was, the spirit
shall return to God who gave it." No intervening period will
then respite the soul, and allow it to make further preparation for
this stupendous event, not made in the present world. How
overwhelming, and dreadful, will it be to a dying sinner to see
himself still a sinner, when his Lord shall call him to his final
reckoning ; and to find, that all the terrors of his dying bed are
only increased beyond measure, the moment he opens his eyes in
the invisible world !
Fifthly, uifflictions teach us, that a dying heel is a most improji-
er place to begin the work of repentance.
The body on a dying bed is either wasted with disease, or
racked with pain. With the weakness and distress of the body
the weakness of the soul usually keeps pace. He, who has lost
almost all his bodily strength, is unfitted for solemn, or even clear
and just, contemplation. In a languishing body all the thoughts
and affections of the soul usually languish ; and, if exerted at all,
are exerted to no valuable end. How iew men are able, on
such a bed, wisely and properly to arrange and direct, even their
worldly aftairs 1 affairs, which they may be said to have gotten
by heart ; and all the parts of which are habitually familiar.
How much less fitted must they be to enter on the great work
of salvation ; a new and vast work, to no part of which they
have hitherto paid any proper attention. This demands clear
and comprehensive thought, strong affections, vigorous resolu-
tions, and complete self possession.
When the body is distressed, and sinking under pain, the soul,
besides its weakness, is forced to attend to its sufferings ; and is»
of course ; engrossed by them. It then becomes, in a sense, im-
possible for it to turn its views, with either strength, or success,
to any other object. In the paroxysms of the gout, or cholic, or
in the labourlngs of the atshma, who could properly take care of
^£R. XV.] IN ADVERSITY. 215
the simplest business. But how much more intense, in many
instances, are the pains of death, than these ? And how often
are these the very pains of a dying bed ?
The terrors also, under which the mind of a sinner must sink
on his death bed, cannot fail to prevent him from that steady,
firm, serene, and just thinking, indispensable to a due prepara-
tion for death. Death is now near ; beyond it, immediately, is
the judgment ; and beyond that the recompense of reward.
Or, if we suppose the sinner unalarmed concerning these
things, we must also suppose him stupid and unconcerned about
his salvation.
The time, spent on a dying bed, is usually short, and in a sense
momentary. This is an unhappy circumstance for him, who has
so much to do, and that of such high importance. The continu-
ance of life too, is now felt to be uncertain ; and this fact alarms
the soul too much, to leave it a full possession of this short
period.
There is also dreadful reason to fear, that God, after a life of
revolt and impiety, will refuse to be reconciled to the sinner, who
has given himself to rebellion throughout all his days, and now,
when he can sin no longer, is anxious to be reconciled to his Ma-
ker. "Be not deceived," says St. Paul, "God is not mocked;
for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap." What
is mocking God, if the consecration of a whole life to sin, and
making the proffers of repentance and reformation at the last
hour, is not ? The man has " sown to the flesh" through life :
is there not every reason to believe, that " of the flesh he will
reap corruption" only ? All these solemn things we are affect-
ingly taught by the death of our friends. We see few persons
hopefully repent on a death bed. We see them then hurried,
enfeebled, alarmed, distressed ; unable to command their thoughts
and affections, and very rarely accomplishing, or even beginning,
the work of salvation. Nay, we see even the good, the religious,
often thus embarrassed and distressed ; and possessing less bright
and comforting views of their good estate, and their reconciliation
to God, than at other times. In this there is nothing strange.
216 CONSIDERATIONS [SKR. XV.
nothing discouraging concerning them. Their former views and
lives furnish us with abundant consolation ; yet even they strong-
ly teach us this great truth, in a very affecting manner, that a dy-
ing heel is vot the proper place to begin the work of Repentance.
The same truth is also taught by the deaths of such Chris-
tians, as then enjoy abundant peace and consolation. In them
we behold how wise and supporting it is, to have begun and fin-
ished this mighty work, " while it" was " called to day ;" to have
seized the spring time to cast in the seed, and to have the sum-
mer before them, to mature the harvest.
When sinners die quietly, we are not less forcibly taught the
same lesson. There is an immense difference between the quiet
of a dying sinner, and the peace of an expiring Christian. The
latter is the result of clear conviction ; of sweet, resigned, obedi-
ent affections ; of divine consolation and support ; and of heaven-
ly anticipations. The former is the offspring of mere stupidity ;
of hardness of heart, and blindness of mind ; of wretched self-
righteousness ; and of a total insensibility to what the sinner is,
and to what he is soon to be. Nothing can more awfully shew
how dangerous it is to leave the life of the soul to such a dismal
and unprofitable death.
All these facts, and facts too of the most interesting and solemn
nature, press this great truth upon the survivors, and especially
upon the surviving and afflicted friends, with a force wholly pe-
culiar ; a force, which can be felt, but which cannot be described.
Every man, in the full view of them, ought to believe, that, al-
though a death bed repentance is sometimes found, yet, if he
postpones this concern to that unsuitable and unhappy place, he
will never repent, but go to the judgment with all his sins upon
his head.
Sixthly. Afflictions teach us most important instructions, in the
consideration of the characters of our deceased friends ^ and of
their conduct during their lives, and at their deaths.
This class of instructions, will greatly vary with the ever vary-
ing characters and conduct of men.
r>ER. XV.] IN ADVERSITY. 217
In the characters of our deceased friends, if they were Chris-
tians, we see most endearing and dehghtful examples of persons,
who have gone through hfe with true wisdom, and effectually se-
cured the end of their being. To us they present a glorious ex-
ample, brought home to our hearts by a thousand interesting con-
siderations ; of their obedience to God ; of their beneficence to
mankind; of their wise attention to the concerns of the soul;
and of their final victory over every danger, and every enemy.
The means which they employed ; the efforts which they made ;
the resistance which they manifested to temptation and to sin ;
the triumphs which they attained over their spiritual enemies,
evil examples, evil communications, powerful lusts, and danger-
ous snares ; furnish us with a pattern of wisdom and excellence,
which God most impressively calls upon us to imitate. To be
like them in character is a most honourable distinction : to see,
like them, the end of all our labours, is infinite gain.
Beyond this, we are assured, that, if we are in the same man-
ner wise and faithful, we shall be hereafter reunited to them in the
world of happiness. Thither they have gone, to receive their
divine reward. There they will be found, when we arrive in the
same delightful world. They are already beginning to hail the
moment, when they shall see us agaia, and renew the former af-
fection and intimacy with enhanced endearment. Already do
they watch for the hastening moment, which will release us from
pain, and sin, and temptation ; which will bear us on its wings to
the glorious assembly in which they are enrolled ; and which will
place us in their company and friendship, beyond the danger, as
well as the sufferance, of sin, and sorrow, and fear, and death.
There we shall see, and know, and love them, and be loved by
them, forever. Whatever counsels they may have given us,
while residing in the present world, will now come home to us,
with all the eflicacy of dying words. They will be counsels,
heard from beyond the grave ; monitions from the regions of in-
visible being.
If, on the contrary, they have lived in sin, and died v/ithout
hope ; they yet furnish us with instructions of incalculable im-
portance.
218 CONSIDERATIONS [SEK. XV,
From them, we learn the miserable tolly ol' sin, its dread-
ful tendency, and its wretched end. How solemnly do they
warn us, that " her house is the way to hell, going down to the
chambers of death ?" At the same time they teach us in the
same awful manner, the folly of postponing the day of repent-
ance. They most unhappily have postponed it. To them no
" convenient season" ever arrived for beginning this great busi-
ness. Whatever designs they planned, whatever resolutions they
formed, on this subject, all of them proved vain and abortive.
" As the fishes are caught in an evil net, and as the birds are
caught in the snare ; so they were snared in an evil time, when
it came suddenly upon them."
Their deaths also teach us, what were the means of their ruin :
the love of pleasure, of wealth, of honour, of power, of sloth,
of self deception, and self justification. Some of these objects
have proved fatal to them. We by their deaths see all these
things brought up to awful view, as a warning to us, from the
world of sorrow ; that we prove not miserable victims to the
same enemies. If we shun them ; we shall escape the ruin, of
which they have been the cause. If we follow them ; the same
will be our end.
Seventhly. The ajflictedarc especially reminded how many bles-
sings they have left.
A serious man can hardly fail, in the hour of sorrow and be-
reavement, to turn his eye to the blessings, which God has been
pleased still to continue for his enjoyment. He will, I think^
hardly fail to say, at least within himself, " I have lost property ;
but still I have bread to eat, and raiment to put on. I am sick ;
but I am less distressed than many others ; and I am surrounded
by friends, whose kindness and care daily alleviate the evils of
disease. I have also my reason, while others are destitute of
this essential blessing, and are groping in the solitude and chains
of bedlam. I have lost children ; or I have been deprived of
friends ; but I have long enjoyed their company and kind oflSces ;
and interchanged with them a thousand endearments. I have
ako many friends ; I have other children left me by a merciful
3ER. XV.J IN ADVERSITY. 219
God. I have still many things given me richly to enjoy. Of all
these mercies, even of the least of them, / am utterly unworthy.
Nothing but the goodness of God has betovved, or even devised
them. How often have I forfeited them all ! How strange is it,
that they should be continued to such a being as I am !''
Eighthly. The affiicted learn from their affiictions, and not un-
frequently for the first time, whither they are to look for consola-
tion in great and distressing evils.
They cannot derive it from the world. '
In all the mere inconveniences of life, the world is able to fur-
nish us with consolation, which is felt to be material, and gener-
ally sufficient. The pleasures, which we have lost, may be re-
placed ; or, if not, may have their places supplied by some other
enjoyments, equally, or perhaps more, agreeable.
But when our distresses become severe and intense, the bles-
sing is gone, and cannot be replaced ; and it admits of no sub-
stitute. In this case, the world is a barren and miserable com-
forter.
You have lost a father ! Where can another i)c found ? A
mother. Who can supply her place ? A child. W hat can fill
the vacant heart ? A brother, or a sister. Where can you hope
to find them again ? More distressing still, you have been bereav-
ed of the husband of your youth, or the wife of your bosom.
Who can bring them back from the grave ? Who can stand in
their stead ? You are doomed to hopeless sickness and languish-
ing ? How can the world release you from the bondage ? You
are sunk in infamy. Can the world restore your good name :
or the happiness which it gave ?
Go to the world, full of the confidence, which you are accus-
tomed to place, in it, and ask whether it has blessings to give,
which will supply the places of those which you have lost. What
will be its answer ? It will shew its hands, naked and empty, as
full proofs of its poverty ; or turn from you, without even deign-
ing to drop the tear of sympathy.
You have a broken spirit. Look round on all things below
the sun ; and tell me, whether you find in them all that balm oi
220 CONSIDERATIONS [SER. XV
Gilead, which alone will allay your anguish, and heal the ulcer
of the heart. The world is a wretched empiric, ignorant alike
of your disease, and of its cure ; and after a long and empty pa-
rade of skill and assiduity, will leave you, when you have spent
upon it your all, nothing better , hut rather groivn worse. To all
your other sufferings will also be added this severe and dreadful
one ; that you will then find it too late to apply, where alone
relief could have been found.
The afflicted the world has always been accustomed to regard
with a cold eye, and an icy heart. To the mourner it is a soli-
tude, dreary and desolate ; in which he is alone ; like one cast
on an uninhabited island without a companion, and left to tell
his sorrows to the rocks and the waves. To the man, deprived
of his property, it is a mere almshouse ; where, feeding on his
own pittance, he looks abroad and sees plenty flowing around
him ; but it flows in the cup of Tantalus, which he is doomed
never to taste. To the man who has lost his good name, howev-
er innocent he may be, it is a barred castle, into which he can
gain no admission ; where he hears nothing but the hiss of con-
tempt, and sees nothing but the finger of derision pointed at
himself. To the hopeless victim of disease it is a gloomy lazar-
house, where Sorrow sighs over her unceasing anguish, and Des-
pair in ghastly silence fixes his eye on a neighbouring tomb.
But from Religion the afflicted can derive consolation, and
sufficient consolation, in every sorrow.
To the poor, afflicted race of man. Religion is a heavenly mes-
senger ; who, like the angels sent to the Bethlehem shepherds, to
announce the birth of the Saviour, while she proclaims unceas-
ingly " Glory to God in the highest," sings, also, " peace on earth,
and good will towards men." Towards every sufferer, labouring
under heavy sorrows, and in the midst of despondency casting
around his eyes in vain to find consolation and relief, she ap-
proaches with her own serene and benevolent smile, and proffers
herself as a comforter to mourners. In her hand she carries the
word of God ; and opening the wonderful book, points to lines
written with the divine finger, and dictated by the voice of infi-
SER. XV.] IN ADVERSITY^ 221
nite compassion. " Behold," she cries, " the testimonies of the
Lord are the heritage of the afflicted, forever. They are the re-
joicing of the broken heart." In this sacred volume read, and
find all the relief, which your sorrows need. Here the infinitely
blessed Jehovah has pourtrayed himself, in characters of light,
as " the Father of all mercies, and the God of all grace and con-
solation." Here he has disclosed himself as the common, kind,
and compassionate parent of men ; and has taught them that all
his chastisements are inflicted only for the good of the sufferers ;
that it is their frowardness, which requires them ; and their fro-
wardness only, which prevents them from being the choicest bles-
sings. To cure your melancholy diseases, to overcome your
dangerous and deadly passions, they have descended on you ;
that you may be a partaker of his holiness and live forever. The
boundless love, which contrived the deliverance of this world
from sin and ruin, is here seen to watch with infinite tenderness
over you. Hear the affectionate language, in which is disclosed
to you the glorious and benevolent character of Him who made
you. " The Lord is my shepherd ; I shall not want. He maketh
me to lie down in green pastures : he leadeth me beside the still
waters. He restoreth my soul : he leadeth me in the path of
righteousness for his names sake. Yea, though I walk through
the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil : for thou
art with me ; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou pre-
parest a table befoi^ me in the presence of mine enemies : thou
anointest my hea3 with oil ; my cup runneth over. Surely good-
ness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my fife : and I
will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."
Hear his own most wonderful words, and learn that exalted
character from his own mouth. " Thus saith the High and lofty
One, that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy ; I dwell in
the high and holy place ; with him also that is of a contrite heart
and humble spirit ; to revive the spirit of the humble, and to re-
vive the heart of the contrite ones. For I will not contend forev-
er, neither will I be always wroth ; for the spirit should fail before
me, and the souls that I have made." In exact accordance
Vol. H. 29
222 CONSIDERATIONS [SER. XV,
with this character he also declares, " When thou passest through
the waters, I will be with thee ; and through the rivers, they
shall not overflow thee ; when thou walkest through the fire,
thou shalt not be burnt ; neither shall the flame kindle on thee."
Turn we now to another page. Here behold the Saviour of
men, the Messiah of God, " by whom all things were created,
that are in heaven, and that are in earth, visible, and invisible,
whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities, or pow-
ers; who is the brightness of his father's glory, and the express im-
age of his person." This transcendent person is here seen " a man
of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;" sorrows undergone for sin-
ful men, grief voluntarily borne for rebels and enemies. In what
manner did he bear his agonies; such as never were borne by any
other ? " He was led as a lamb to the slaughter ; and as a sheep be-
fore her shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth. He for the
joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame,
and is now set down at the right hand of the throne of God." The
whole language of his heart, the whole language of his life, was
"Not my will, but thine be done." In the days of his flesh he offered
up prayers and supplications, with strong crying and many tears,
unto him that was able to save him from death ; and was heard,
in that he feared. Follow his glorious and perfect example ; of-
fer up your prayers and supplications in the same nanner ; fear
as he did, and you will be heard. By his own temptations, and
sorrows, " he is become a merciful High Priestf^ who can be touch-
ed with the feeling of your infirmities," and those of all the race
of Adam. Accordingly he has declared, that " the bruised reed
he will not break, and the smoking flax he will not quench, till he
send forth judgment unto victory." He has promised, that he
" will never leave you nor forsake you. Peace has he left with you,
and all his followers ; his own Peace hath he given unto you ; not
as the world giveth doth he give unto you."
Are you distressed and perplexed concerning the nature and
end of your afflictions ? He has told you that, " although no aflHic-
tion for the present is joyous, but grievous, nevertheless, after-
ward, it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them
SER. XV.] IN ADVERSITY. 223
that are exercised thereby ;" and that, heavy as it may seem to
you, it is in truth comparatively light ; and worketh for you " a
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory."
Behold in this book, also, unanswerable proofs, that your af-
flictions will make you wiser and better, produce in you patience,
submission, resignation, and all that meek and lowly spirit^ which
in the sight of God is of great price : that they will dissolve
the chains, which bind you to dust and sin ; prepare you by spir-
itual refinement for a better world ; and prune and strengthen
your wings for a final flight to the regions of immortality.
In these luminous pages see, also, the declarations of the
same glorious person, that the friends whom you lament, are, if
they have loved and believed him, only gone before you to that
happy world. In that world you will find them all ; and all oth-
ers whom you love in the truth. In the mean time, see around
you those, who have entered that same happy way, weeping with
you when you weep ; taking kindly, and readily, a share in all
your burdens ; bearing you on their prayers every morning and
evening to the throne of mercy ; and calling down upon you
the best of blessings.
Such are some of the consolations, which Religion brings to
the afflicted. How suited are they to the circumstances of suf-
ferers ! How numerous ; how great ; how divine ! A balm to that
wounded spirit, which none can bear, and none beside this heav-
enly physician can heal. To every suflferer who loves her voice,
and delights in her conversation, she is a constant and charming
companion by night and by day ; soothes with a still, small voice
all his sins and sorrows ; spreads the path of life with roses ;
makes his bed a bed of down ; surrounds his head with a mild
and steady sunshine ; and opens through the clouds of mortality
a bright passage, for the eye of Faith, to heavens, clear, serene,
and eternal.
II. I shall now close the discourse with suggesting several
motives for this consideration.
1st. It is the command of God.
The path of duty is always the path of safety ; and equally so
in the present case, as in any other. " The law of the Lord is
224 (CONSIDERATIONS [SER. XV.
perfect, converting the soul : the testimony of the Lord is sure,
making wise the simple. The statutes of the Lord are right, re-
joicing the heart : the commandment of the Lord is pure, enlight-
ening the eyes. The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever:
the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."
All the openings of his lips are, as he has said they should be,
right things. Consideration is, therefore, to the afflicted, rigJtt. It
w^ill contribute to produce all these divine effects ; " to convert the
soul, to make wise the simple, to rejoice the heart, and to en-
lighten the eyes."
Besides, God is always pleased when he obeys. To please
him is all, for which we were made, for which we live. To an
mgenuous mind no joy can be compared with serving and pleasing
the Lord. Were there no other motive to this conduct, but this,
that God hath required it ; this would determine completely the
obedience of every good man ; and he would ask, and wish, for no
other.
But happily for such beings as we are, so cold, indifferent, and
dead to our duty, all other motives unite with this ; all, I mean,
which ought to influence a rational mind. For
2dly. God has informed ns, that it is better to go to the house
of mournings than to the house of feasting : for that is the end of
all men ; and the living will lay it to heart.
Even to those, who are mere visiters in the house of mourning,
there is, in the eye of God, good, furnished by that melancholy
mansion ; and good, which even they will naturally find.
The two reasons, here given by the wise man, why such as
visit the house of mourning will be profited by going to it, are
the nature of the place, and the emotions, which it inspires in
their hearts. " That is the end of all men ; and the living will
lay it to heart." The end of all men, the most solemn and affec-
ting of all things here below, is found in the house of mourning;
and is not barely taught, but most affectingly taught : It is taught
in fact ; in the person of a friend, or neighbour ; one whose death
affects us particularly, on a great variety of accounts. Death in
such circumstances affects us deeply, golemnly, and permanently.
SER. XV.J IN ADVERSITY. 225
Be3'ond this, we are in the midst of the mourning family, and
by tender sympathy share in all their sorrows, while they are
fresh and powerful. We cannot fail here to " weep with those
who weep ; and to mourn and be in bitterness" with such, as
have lost perhaps " an only son, and are in bitterness for a first
born."
Thus we see here the end of all men in the clearest light ; and
are in the most advantageous situation to lay it usefully to heart.
But if this be the case with mere visiters ; with friends, neigh-
bours, or even strangers ; how much more advantageous must
be the situation of the mourners themselves ! To them the end
of all men is brought far nearer; and their tenderness of mind is
far greater, and prepares them much more effectually to lay it to
heart. Their minds are more affected, more solemn, and better
prepared for religious impressions, than those of any other per-
sons ; and more than they themselves are in any other circum-
stances.
But to lay to heart the end of all men is one of our most im-
portant duties, and highest interests. It is the way to be prepar-
ed for that end ; to become religious ; to be fitted for heaven.
Thus, then, the afilicted, especially mourners, enjoy the best
opportunity, commonly afforded by the Providence of God for
securing the end of their being ; the salvation of their souls. This
opportunity is rendered profitable chiefly, or only, by wise con-
sideration. Of course our highest interest demands this duty at
our hands. He, therefore, who does not perform it, is most un-
wise, and lost alike to his duty, and to his supreme interest.
3dly. As afflictio7is are sent to bring- us to consideration, God,
[f he designs good for us, must be expected to go on hi his course
of chastisement, until the end of them, viz. our reformation, is pro-
duced.
The purposes of God will all be accomplished, " My Counsel
shall stand, and I will do all my pleasure." "I work; and who
shall let it ?" Hence we ought rationally to expect affliction to
be added to affliction, until the rebellious heart is broken, and the
spirit of obstinacy and impenitence subdued. If the first afflic-
226 CONSIDERATIONS [SER- X.V.
tions accomplish the design of God in sending them ; he will not
make use of others. If not ; there is always reason to fear, that
he will continue his chastisements, until he has brought us to
submission and repentance. The smart of one stroke naturally
leads us to dread another ; and therefore common prudence
should prompt us to a faithful performance of this duty.
4thly. God way, on the contrary, and often does, give up those,
who are imreformed hy aviations, to hardness of heart.
This of all evils, on this side of the grave, is undoubtedly the
greatest. It is no other than an anticipation of the final sen-
tence of the wicked. Yet this is, unquestionably, often pronoun-
ced in the present world ; although we ourselves are not warrant-
ed to apply it to individuals. In conformity to this doctrine, God
said to the ancient Jews, " Why should ye be stricken any more ?
Ye will revolt more and more :" and, still more dreadfully of
Ephraim, " Ephraim is joined unto idols, let him alone." " The
earth, which," in this sense, " drinketh in the rain, which cometh
oft upon it, and" still " beareth thorns and briers, is rejected, and
is nigh unto cursing. The miry places and marshes," which thus
prove that they " cannot be healed, are given to salt." If re-
peated afflictions are to be dreaded by those, who are now suf-
fering ; how much more this rejection, this final desertion of
God.
In this way we lose the best, and, as the case is supposed, the
only, time of repentance and salvation. As our hearts are now
more fitted to receive divine impressions, than in any ordinary
circumstances ; so, since we do not receive and feel them during
this happy period, there is no reason to expect that we shall feel
at all.
Sthly. By the performance of this duty the afflicted will obtain
incalculable good now, as well as hereafter.
" Afflictions," of course, if wisely improved, and sanctified by
God, " yield the peaceable fruits of righteousness." If wisely im-
proved by us, there is good reason to hope, that they will be thus
sanctified. Great multitudes of mankind are hopefully " brought
out of darkness into marvellous light," during seasons of severe
SER. XV.] IN ADVERSITY. 227
affliction. Then the first views begin, the first affections are
cherished, the first resolutions are formed, which introduce all
the succeeding happy train of conduct and character of the
sanctified man. Eternal hfe is very often to be dated from the
dying bed of our friends. Religion there sits kindly and con-
stantly, to persuade us to admit her as a future friend, a future
and eternal inmate of our bosoms, Christ there solemnly and
affectingly calls on us, as we dread death, to dread sin, the cause
of death ; and to be alarmed with the thought of dying forever ;
to be reconciled to God, then waiting to receive us to his arms ;
and to believe in himself " the resurrection and the life," that he
" may raise us up at the last day." Salvation here dawns, like
the day-star, rising out of a night of gloom and tempest, and an-
ticipating a perfect and glorious day. The soul, here under a
load of hopeless sorrow, finding no other earthly friend or com-
forter, able and willing to relieve its distresses, bows before its
divine Redeemer, and turns to the Spirit of Grace for heavenly
and immortal consolations. Here it seeks, so as to find, them all.
A new disposition now commences in the soul ; a lively confi-
dence in Christ ; a humble sorrow for sin ; a willing submission
to God. With these, are found " peace of conscience, and joy
in the Holy Ghost ;" delightful companions ; born in the heav-
ens, and springing from a Parent infinite and divine ! The mind
under their mild and sweet influence becomes at peace with it-
self; at peace with its fellow creatures ; at peace with its Ma-
ker. " The North wind awakes" in it ; "the South wind blows"
upon it ; its blossoms all expand ; "its spices flow out" in all their
fragrance. The spirit of truth finds a residence, in which he is
pleased to dwell. Thenceforth all its fruits are pleasant and
abundant, acceptable to God, useful and delightful to mankind.
No more a desolate wilderness, overgrown with briers and thorns,
the soul has become " a well watered garden, a fruitful field,
which the Lord hath planted." Like Eden it blooms, not with
beauty only, but with life : and bear fruits, not only " good for
food, and pleasant to the eye," l)ut fraught with the principles
and the hopes of immortality.
SERMON XVI.
SERMON ON THE OLD YEAK.
Psalm xc. 9.
We spend our years, as a tale that is told.
This Psalm is composed of a series of just, forcible, and mel-
ancholy reflections on the shortness and vanity of life ; and of a
fervent and most interesting prayer for such blessings, as are es-
pecially suited to beings, possessed of such a life. It is styled
" A prayer of Moses, the man of God ;" and is strongly marked
with the energetic and sublime spirit, every where visible in the
writings of this singular man. The occasion, on which it is sup-
posed to have been written, was the termination of that gradual
change in human life, which began immediately after the flood,
and reduced the period from a thousand to seventy years. This
termination seems to have been accomphshed at the time, when
the rebellious Israelites, of the generation which went out of
Egypt, were condemned to perish in the wilderness. Both of
these subjects appear to have been strongly realized by the wri-
ter, and directly alluded to in his reflections ; and were therefore,
I think, certainly in his mind, when he began to write.
The Psalm is a poem strictly of the elegiac kind ; and is, for
its length, excelled by no similar human composition, in the pro-
priety and beauty of thought and description. The Lamentations
of Jeremiah are not more perfect ; the images are remarkably
strong and happy ; and the thoughts are in several instances pre-
eminent specimens of philosophical sublimity.
The great change in human life, from the antediluvian length
to its present date, was in the most affecting manner exhibited in
SER. XVI.] SERMON ON THE OLD YEAR. 229
the destruction of this generation of the IsraeUtes. From two
to three milHons of people accompanied Moses from Egypt into
the wilderness of Sin. All these, except Caleb and Joshua, and
such as were under twenty years of age, when they passed through
the Red Sea, were miserably cut off in the wilderness, and not
permitted to enter the promised land. This dreadful dispensa-
tion was the punishment of their incorrigible hardness of heart,
and their numerous rebellions against God. A more melancholy
scene could not, therefore, easily be presented to the human eye.
To Moses it must have been singularly affecting. He, commis-
sioned by God himself, had in a most wonderful manner rescued
his nation from the iron bondage of Egypt ; conducted them
with a series of miracles through the Red Sea, and through the
wilderness ; published to them the law of God ; and unfolded to
them a long train of glorious and divine promises. In this dig-
nified employment he had presided over all their national con-
cerns, both civil and military ; had spent forty years of his life
in the most painful labours ; indulged the most delightful hopes ;
offered up unceasingly the most fervent prayers ; patiently suf-
fered a train of severe distresses ; and wished even to part with
his own life for the sake of his people. As these labours and
sufferings were drawing near to a close ; he beheld those,
for whom he had laboured and suffered, cut off in the divine an-
ger, and his own hopes of their present and future happiness
shrouded in perpetual darkness. To such a man, in such circum-
stances, how painful must have been this scene !
Among the reflections, contained in this Psalm a very interest-
ing one is presented to us in the text. The shortness and vani-
ty of life is a subject, in which every man will, in spite of himself,
ever find a deep concern. He will not indeed, like Moses, feel
that strong interest in it, forced upon the mind by the sight of
the continual and regular diminution of a nation, or by the con-
trast between the existing date of human life, and a known, pre-
ceding longevity. Still, however frequently the subject is men-
tioned to him, in whatever form of expression itis rehearsed, he will
always find his mind solemnly arrested ; his attention, for a little
Vol. H. 30
230 SERMON ON THE [SER. XVI.
time at least, irresistibly engaged ; and, if he is not inclined to
serious and useful reflections, his heart disposed to force the sub-
ject away from his contemplation, because it is painful. No
theme of reflection has been oftener adopted, or, in a greater
variety of forms, by Moralists, and others ; no subject has, per-
haps, been more frequently pronounced trite and dull ; or more
frequently ridiculed, as unfit to engage the understanding, the
imagination, or the heart. Observations on it are styled see-saw
morahty ; and discourses about it are spoken of as mere thrum-
ming. Yet, in defiance of this and all other opposition, it still
finds a way to the heart. We cannot be told, that we must die^
and that we may die to morrow, without, at the least, a momen-
tary check to pleasure, sense, and sin. We cannot be told of
the death of a neighbour without, at the least, a transient solem-
nity ; a little twinge ; an involuntary apprehension concerning
the approach of our own end.
This truth is strikingly manifested in the conversation of men
concerning places, and seasons, in which mortal diseases exist.
Few men willingly acknowledge the place, in which they live, to
be undealthy ; and most regard the bare mention of such a fact
w^ith resentment. In times of sickness, when inquiries are made
concerning this subject, we are told, that it is indeed a sickly
season ; but it is confined chiefly to infants, or to children.
When the yellow fever rages, we are told, that only some poor
people have fallen victims to the pestilence. In this phraseolo-
gy it is intended to intimate, that adidts in the one case, and the
rich in the other, are hitherto safe. Yet nothing would be alleg-
ed, as a reason why both were not exposed, in such a case ex-
cept the insidiousness of the fear which persuades us to put far
away the evil day. In this manner we testify, among other
things, the alarm, excited in our minds by the mortality around
us ; and the industry, with which we impose on ourselves the per-
suasion that we are safe ; and thus exhibit unquestionable proof,
indirect as it seems, that a sense of the shortness and uncer-
taintv of life has a sufficient influence to make us rely on trivial
circumstances, as real evidence that we are secure from danger.
SER. XVI.] OLD YEAR. 231
A tale is usually a momentary^ and a irijling, amusement.
When, therefore, our hfe is compared to this object, we are
taught on the one hand, that it is a transient period ; and on the
other, that it is spent by us in a manner merely amusive, and
without any serious or important benefit. How difierent is this
manner of employing life from that, to which it was destined by
our Creator 1 By him it was intended to be to each one of us a
day of probation, and of grace ; a season, in which we were to
renounce our sins, accept of the mercy proffered to us through
the Redeemer, and secure a title to a happy immortality. In-
finite importance is in this manner stamped on this litle season.
No mind was, perhaps, ever more feelingly alive to this fact, than
that of Moses ; and no circumstances could more strongly im-
press it on any mind, than those by which he was surrounded.
We cannot, therefore wonder, at the strong images, by which he
has unfolded his views of it to mankind.
The End of a year is undoubtedly a time, which presents
these truths to the mind, and brings them home to the heart with
peculiar force. There is something melancholy in the end of al-
most every thing. The evening is the most solemn period in the
day. Saturday is the least cheerful day of the week. The ter-
mination of the year is the most melancholy season, which it con-
tains. Students, at an early period of their collegiate residence,
usually look forward to the close of it with pleasurable anticipa-
tion ; but, when it arrives, rarely fail to experience a depression
of spirits, a mournful reluctance to part with the place, where
they have so long lived. The word, farewell, seems to carry
sorrow in its very sound. How often do we find friends, when
about to separate, scarcely able to pronounce it, and contriving
beforehand to avoid a solemn formal adieu. The termination of
a ministry, or the resignation of a civil office, long holden, is
rarely met by any man, however desirable his judgment may pro-
nounce it, without feelings of irresistible regret. The close of
life is undoubtedly the most melancholy event, through which
we pass in the present world ; and requires the brightest hopes
of a glorious immortaility to reconcile to it, however fi-ee it may
232 SERMON ON THE [SER. XVI.
be from pain and suffering, either the mind of the dying person,
or the minds of those who surround his bed.
The feehngs, excited by this consideration, fit us in a peculiar
manner to contemplate, with high advantage, many subjects of
great importance, and utihty. They are all serious feehngs ; and
therefore suited to serious contemplation. They are solemn ;
they are affecting ; and therefore suited to subjects, which are
solemn and deeply interesting to the mind. In such a state eve-
ry subject is regarded with more concern than in any other ; and
leaves impressions more permanent, and more influential.
We are now about to bid farewell to another year. Its last
suns are rolling through their circuit, and about to set forever.
Its day is spent ; its evening is beginning to fade into never-en-
ding darkness. Many important events joyful or melancholy,
useful or useless to us, has it brought into being, during its course.
Its nature, continuance, advantages, or disadvantages ; and the
manner in which it has been employed ; together with various
other things, well deserve to be recalled, and reviewed by us.
With the feelings, which I have mentioned, we may profitably
survey all these, and many more, objects of instruction, natural-
ly presented by this period ; and may make them means of real
and lasting good.
Among these objects I shall select the following, as being of
serious import to all who hear me.
1 St. The shortness of human life.
The year, which we have almost finished, is a seventieth part
of the life of man. How little does that part now seem ! When
it commenced, its end appeared to be distant ; yet how soon has
it arrived ! How momentary the space between its commence-
ment and its conclusion ! How few, indistinct, and feeble, are
the traces of it in our recollection ! How faint an image of its
varied events are we able to call up before the mind ! How much
does the flight of its days, weeks, and months, resemble a tale
that is told !
Oo to the man of grey hairs ; and he will tell you, that seven-
ty such years seem to him but little longer than one ; and that
SER. XVI.] OLD YEAR. 233
his own life, styled long in the customary language of men, is in
his view more like a dream than a reality •, that it has fleeted
away before he was aware, and has scarcely left an abiding im-
pression on his memory ; that, since he arrived at the age of
twenty, every year has become shorter than the preceding ; and
that a month in his youth, or childhood, seemed to him as long,
as twelve, in the decline of life. What, according to this unex-
ceptionable testimony, is then the amount of the whole term al-
loted to man ? How strongly does it resemble " a tale that is told !"
2dly. The manner, in which life has been spent by us, is, at
such a time a most solemn object of consideration.
How strongly does this also, resemble the allusion in the text !
We tell, and hear, tales, without any serious concern, or thought;
and intend only to be amused by them during the period of the
rehearsal. How much is this the manner, in which life is passed
by multitudes. Tales are frequently told to excite merriment; fre-
quently, to awaken wonder ; frequently, to move temporary feel-
ings of sympathy ; frequently, to while away an idle hour ; and
frequently, to enjoy the pleasure of telling them. When the re-
cital is finished, the purpose, for which it exists, is also finished.
It is followed by no consequence, either useful or entertaining.
The emotions, whether serious or sportive, terminate with the
story ; and both are speedily lost and forgotten. Life then goes
on exactly as it did before ; and all things remain just as they
would have been, if the rehearsal had never been made. On
futurity it was never designed to have any influence ; not even on
a day, or an hour.
In a manner similar to this is life spent by no small part of
the human race. The hearers of tales are not more perfectly
the mere votaries of amusement, during the periods of listening
to them, than multitudes are during the whole progress of life :
not more given up to the indulgence of wonder, and other emp-
ty and useless emotions ; nor to the killing of time ; nor to the
vanity of being listened to by a gaping circle. This amusement,
also, terminates in itself; and is not designed to have any effect
upon that which is to come. Its whole end is to produce enjoy-
-234 SERMON ON THE [SER. XVI.
ment while it lasts ; enjoyment, intended to be found in toying
and trifling, without a wish exercised, or an attempt made, to
become wise, virtuous, or useful. The pleasures of to day are
not intended even to prepare pleasures to morrow ; but those of
to morrow are left to the direction of that chance, which is con-
sidered as having given birth to those of to day. Mere butter-
flies, they flutter from field to field, and from flower to flower,
heedless that the summer, in which they sport, will be soon suc-
eeeded by a season of frost and death.
In the same manner, also, every period of life is by persons of
this character chiefly forgotten, and employed to no useful pur-
pose. Instead of reviewing at night the conduct of the day, or
at the close of a week, or a year, the events which have existed
in its progress ; instead of learning from past errors, and past
sins, future wisdom and reformation ; instead of being admon-
ished by the reproofs, alarmed by the judgments, solemnized and
softened by the afflictions, and charmed to gratitude and repent-
ance by the mercies, furnished by a holy and gracious Provi-
dence; they hurry from enjoyment to enjoyment, and bustle from
sport to sport ; embosomed, and lost, in the present gratification ;
forgetful that much good may be hereafter secured, and much
evil avoided by prudent forecast, even in the present world ; and
that endless happiness must be gained, or endless misery suffered,
in the world to come.
This subject we are now solemnly required to apply to our-
selves, and to call up to our view the manner, in which life has
been spent by us. As this is an object far too multiform and com-
plicated, to admit of a particular examination at the present
time ; it will be more useful to confine our researches to the past
year. The subject, here, will be less perplexed, and more fresh
in every one's remembrance. Let me then call upon every
person present to look back upon his own life, at this period ;
and see whether it has not strongly resembled " a tale that is
told."
You have all throughout this period been furnished by the
bountiful hand of God, with many privileges. A seventieth part
SER. XVI.] OLD YEAR. 235
of human life has been added to your preceding years. To
what purpose has it been employed ? To any, which you dare
mention, even to yourselves ; or on which you can turn back the
eye of remembrance with comfort ? God has put into your hand
his holy word ; and given you knowledge, to read and under-
stand the truths which it declares, and the duties which it enjoins.
Has the gift been regarded by you with gratitude, or used by
you with profit ? Would it not have been better disposed of, had
you given it to some humble, illiterate man, who would have
spelled out its contents, and in some measure yielded his heart to
their direction. Your closets have stood open round the year,
that you might enter in, and " bow your knees to the Father of
all mercies." Has his eye beheld your knees bow, or his ear
heard your prayers ascend, in that secret place ; or has the year
rolled round its circuit, and witnessed no solitary petition from
your lips ; and left you, as it found you, without prayer, and
" without God in the world ?" Fifty-two Sabbaths have in the
same period invited you to the house, and to the ordinances of
God. In what manner have you regarded the invitation ? Have
you loved, and laboured, to worship him " acceptably ; with rev-
erence and godly fear V Has his house been " a house of prayer"
to you ? Have your hearts united with those around you " in
praising the Lord for his goodness" to you, " and for his wonder-
ful works" to your fellow men ? Have the solemn discourses,
which by his own appointment were there addressed to you, found,
or awakened, in you a disposition to hear, to learn, or to obey?
Have they awakened in you a sense of guilt and danger ; and
prompted you to fly to Christ for safety ? Have you had, have
you now, believing, penitent, and obedient hearts 1 Are your lives
purified from the stains of sin, and adorned with the beauty and
excellency of righteousness ? Have you begun to hope, that you
are the children of God ? Have the conversation and example
of those, whom you believe to be his children, become desirable
and pleasant ? Has the light of heaven dawned in your minds,
and begun the promises of a future and immortal day ?
236 SERMON ON THE [SER. XVI-
While these things are passing in review before you, let me ex*
hort }'ou to remember, that all the transactions of this same year
you will, there, be called not only to examine, but to recount : the
manner, in which you have spent every moment which it con-
tained ; the improvement, or abuse, of every privilege ; the
thoughts and affections which you have cherished ; the words
which you have uttered ; and the works which you have done.
Naked to the view of the All-seeing eye, they vvill all, then, be
naked to your view also. Are you prepared for their recital; and
satisfied, that the result of it will be comfortable to you ? Are
you ready to have all your conduct scanned, the recesses of your
souls laid open ; and your final allotment determined according
to the manner, in which God has seen you live ?
3dly. It will he useful, at such a season, to remember how
many things have this year been brought to an end.
The restless mind of man has through this, as through former
periods, toiled, and cared, and watched, with its usual anxiety,
to gain the objects of sense and sin. In how many instances
have this toil and trouble been in vain ! Avarice has dug. Ambi-
tion has climbed, and Voluptuousness has wantoned, in the ea-
ger search for wealth, fame, power, and pleasure. But how of-
ten has the bankrupt, the shipwreck, or the fraud, robbed the
miser of his pelf; and left him to sigh in poverty and sorrow.
How often has a more successful candidate, or a changing popu-
lace, or a fickle sovereign, blasted the fond hopes, indulged by
the votary of power ; and snatched the darling office from his
hands, just opened to grasp it ! How often has pleasure, like the
humming-bird, receded from the silly child of sense, as he was ap-
proaching to seize it ; and, retiring from flower to flower, always
eluded his speed and cunning, till finally it skimmed away, and
vanished from his sight ! And how uniformly has the good, ex-
pected by these worldings, disappeared at the moment, when
they had compassed the darling object of their wishes, and left
nothing but vacuity and disappointment behind.
How frequently, also, has disease arrested them all, in the
midst of their highest hopes, of their most eager pursuit of earth-
SER. XVI.] OLD YEAR. 23f
ly good ! How frequently has the palsy withered the limbs and
, shrunk the faculties of the mind ; and the consumption blasted
"> the hopes even of life ; and forced the eye to turn its view fiom
splendour and revelling to the dreary grave ! How often has melan-
choly shrouded the soul in gloom, covered the bright light of
heaven, and changed the world into a cavern of darkness and
solitude ; or Delirium extinguished the lamp of reason, changed
the man into a wild beast, and hurried him to the seclusion and
chains of a dungeon !
How often has Death called to the unthinking wretch, who for-
got that he was not to live here forever ; and said with a dreadful
voice, " thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee !''
In obedience to this summons the fond, infatuated worshipper of
this world has, amidst the gayest hopes and most confident prom-
ises of temporal gratification, quitted the beloved objects of his
pursuit ; and instead of heaping up gold, glittering in power and
splendour, and wallowing in sensuality, gone down to the grave ;
appeared before the bar of God ; given up an account of his
sins ; and been consigned to endless poverty, ruin, and despair.
The number of the inhabitants of this world has been estimated
from seven hundred and fifty to nine hundred millions. We
will suppose the former number to be correct. The life of man
has been, with a good degree of accuracy, supposed to be thir-
ty years. One generation of the human race therefore, or seven
hundred and fifty millions of mankind, leave this world and en-
ter into eternity, within this period. Twenty five millions, of
course, die in a single year ; are summoned to the judgment; and
enter upon the recompence of reward. To the probation of so
many accountable beings this year has in all probability put a
period.
At the same time how many innocent and lawful enjoyments
have been also terminated during this period ! How many per-
sons have lost their health, property, comforts, and hopes ! How
many friends and families have been separated by death ; whose
affection, kind offices, and mutual pleasure, can never be renew-
ed on this side of the grave.
Vol. H. 31
ft .
238 SERMON ON THE [SER. XVI
In a multitude of instances, also, the blessings of Providence
have been wasted by thoughtless negligence, and giddy profu-
sion. These can never be recalled ; nor the opportunity of em-
ploying them to the accomplishment of those valuable ends, for
which they were given.
In no small number of instances, also, the day of probation,
and the means of grace, have been lost with a negligence and
prodigality still more thoughtless and dreadful. From some of
the wretched prodigals it is neither unnatural, nor uncharitable,
to suppose, that God, by giving them up to their own desires,
has finally taken away all disposition to a future, wise, and prof-
itable use of these blessings ; so that, hereafter, his word will
fail of all useful efficacy on them ; and sabbaths return, the sanc-
tuary open its doors, prayers ascend, and sermons call to repent-
ance and eternal life, in vain. To these persons Christ has proffer-
ed himself for the last time ; the last sound of the voice of mercy
jias died upon the ear ; and the evening of hope has terminated
in everlasting night. "The vessel of wrath"" is now continued
only till it shall be " full," and thus completely fitted for destruc-
tion.
In many more instances the instructions of parents have par-
tialhj lost their influence: The warnings of God's providence,
and the threatenings and promises of his word, have failed of
their effect : tenderness of conscience, gradually decaying, has
degenerated towards hardness of heart, and apprehensiveness
of guilt towards security in sin. In this manner the soul, insen-
sibly to itself, is removed farther from repentance, life, and
hope : and the " power of darkness" advanced towards an as-
cendancy over it, final and fatal.
4thly. It is peculiarly proper at such a time that ive should
call to mind what we have done^ during the past year.
Every person present is reasonably required to make to him-
self an application of the several considerations, which have been
already nentioned. With equal propriety is he expected to call
up to his view the things which he has done. Among these, his
sins undoubtedly will hold an important place. Think, I beseecl*
SER. XVI.] OLD YEAR. 239
yoQ, how many sins you have severally committed in a single day ;
how many more in a week ; how greatly they have been multi-
plied in a month ; and to what a vast number they have arisen
in the compass of a year. How many evil thoughts and affec-
tions ; how many murmurings and repinings against God ; how
many lewd, injurious, and base purposes have been formed and
cherished in the soul ; how many words of unkindness, falsehood,
profaneness, and obscenity, have been uttered ; how many iniqui-
tous, unjust, fradulent, rebellious, and impious actions have been
done ? How often you have hardened your hearts against the
threatenings of future wo, the reproofs of sin, and the invitations
to repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ ! How often you
have perverted, and ridiculed, the word and worship of God ;
profaned the Sabbath ; tempted those around you to sin ; exhi-
bited a baleful example of impiety ; " grieved the Holy Spirit ;"
and " crucified afresh the Lord of glory by your unbelief! " How
often, also, have you preferred all other conduct to your duty,
and all other things to your souls ; devised means to withdraw
yourselves and others from repentance and reformation ; volun-
tarily contributed to your own perdition, and to theirs ; and thus
assumed, at the same time, the character of assassins and sui-
cides. At the same time I would charitably hope, that such is
not, in the same absolute manner, the character of all who hear
me. Will it be too much to be presumed, that tenderness of
conscience has in some instances been increased ; that a few
persons in this assembly have exercised more solemn and just
thoughts, than heretofore, concerning their moral state, and their
salvation ; and that some of you seriously intend to obtain eter-
nal hfe ? How different is the state of this assembly, at the pres-
ent time, from what the eyes of some, who are present, beheld
at a former period ! In the year 1 802, about fifty youths, mem-
bers of this College, gave themselves up to God in the Covenant
of grace. This year has seen but one solitary dedication of this
nature. How do " the ways of Zion mourn, because few come
to her solemn feasts ?"
240 SERMON ON THE [SER. XVI
5thly. At this time, also, we are affectingly required to ask ouT'
selves the following questions.
First. What reason can we give for spending our life, as we
have, in many instances, actually spent it.
Can you, my hearers, render to your consciences an excuse,
with which they will be satisfied, for the manner in which you
have lived during this period ; a reason, which they will admit,
why you have continued in sin ; neglected your salvation ; haz-
arded the eternal welfare of your souls ; and put them on the
risk of final perdition ; a reason, why you have not obeyed God
with all the heart ; yielded yourselves to Him, as his children, in
the covenant of peace; besought him with all humility of muid,
with strong crying, and many tears, to pardon your manifold
sins ; turned to the Lord Jesus Christ with a sincere repentance,
and faith in his blood ; and consecrated your hearts and your
lives to the service of God, and "• your generation, according to
His will ?" Can you find a reason why you have wasted this year,
with all the Sabbaths, privileges, and blessings which it contain-
ed ; a reason, which you will be wilhng to allege before the bar
of God ; a reason, which he will admit; a reason, which will
stand you in stead in that trying hour 1
Second. Let me ash for you. What have you gained by liv-
ing this year ?
Are you less sinful ? Are you more sober-minded ? Are your
consciences more tender ? Do you think more frequently and
solemnly, on death and the judgment ; on the immense impor-
tance of life, as the day of probation ; on the amazing nature of
eternity, as the season of reward ? Have you formed and retain-
ed useful resolutions of speedy repentance and amendment of
life ? Have you begun to ask God to save you, or to look to
Christ for redemption ? Have you considered whether you have
souls to be saved ; or once thought, during the preceding twelve
months, that then was peculiarly " the accepted time ?" Are you
wiser, or better, than when the year began ? Are you nearer to
heaven ? Have you gained any thing, which your minds can now
recall ; and which you will be willing to rehearse beyond the
srave ?
SER. XVI.] OLD YEAR, 241
Third. Let me further ask you, What you have lost ?
This question let me also answer. If you have not gained the
things, which I mentioned under the last question; you have lost
a year, with all the hopes and blessings which it brought on its
wings. The bounties of God's Providence have been bestowed
on you in vain. The proffers of his grace have been made to
you in vain. In vain have the glad tidings of the gospel been
proclaimed to you. In vain has the Sabbath dawned on you
with peace and hope ; the sanctuary invited you to the mercy
seat ; the sun in his successive circuits warned you how fast your
days were fleeting away ; the bell tolled the knell of those around
you, to warn you of your own approaching death ; and God and
man, earth and heaven, laboured together, that you might live.
All these blessings you have lost ; and for the loss of none of
them can you give an account.
Fourth. What is now your condition ?
Search your souls, and see. Determine to know the worst
of your case. This is the first step towards rendering it better.
Probe your wounds to the bottom ; lest they ulcerate beyond the
hope of a cure. Inquire solemnly into all that you have done,
and into all that you have left undone. What do your conscien-
ces testify ? Can they say of you, as the spirit of grace said of
Paul, " Behold he prayeth." Do they testify, " That some good
thing is found in you towards the Lord God of Israel ?" Or are
you yet " without hope, and without God in the world ?"
Fifthly. What are your prospects ?
These will in a great measure depend on your plans. What
are those plans ? Is there among them a sober, determined
scheme of obtaining salvation ? Is the time fixed on, at which
you will begin the great work of self-examination ; at which you in-
tend to ask, " What you must do to be saved ?" at which you in-
tend " to arise, and go to your Heavenly father, and say to him,
' Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and before thee ; and am
no more worthy to be called thy son.' " Have you began to
feel, that you are sinners ; ruined by your apostacy, condemned
by the righteous law of God, and advancing daily towards the
242 SERMON ON THE OLD YEAR. [SER. XVI,
" burnings of devouring fire." Are you fully satisfied, that
"there is salvation in no other, but Christ ;" and that " his blood
only can take away sin V Have you determined to quit " the
broad and crooked road, which leadeth to destruction ;" to de-
sert your evil companions, your dangerous haunts, and your still
more dangerous practices ? Has the path to heaven, strait and
difficult as it is, begun to seem a desirable road for the journey
of your life ? Have you considered the glorious world, to which
it leads, and to which it is the only way, as your own future, eter-
nal habitation ; and determined, as an earnest of your arrival
there, speedily to renew the joy of angels and saints over your
repentance ? Or is the world still your God, your portion, and
your all.
Sixthly. What will be the end of your life ?
At 'jr- distant period, all your years will come to an end.
Your " feet will then stumble on the dark mountains," and your
eyes be closed in the iron sleep. Your souls will then leave the
bodies, which they here inhabited, and will " return to God who
gave them," to have "every work, with every secret thing,
brought into judgment." When from a dying bed you come to
take a retrospect of all you will then have done, suffered and en-
joyed, in this world ; what, in your view, will probably be the
amount? Will your whole life, like the year that is now closing,
appear like a tale that is told ^ not only momentary, but vain ;
idle ; a mere amusement ; a day, in which you have fluttered
and sported in the sunbeams, to no useful end ; without provi-
ding for a peaceful death, a comfortable account, or a happy
eternity. Will it then appear, that the means of grace have all
been squandered by you ; and that the day of salvation, that sweet
and accepted time, has been laughed, slept, and smned away ?
" Oh that you were wise ; that you understood these things ; that
you would consider your latter end."
SERMON XVII.
— o^o—
A SERMON FOR THE NEW YEAR.
Preached January, 1807.
Jeremiah xxviii. 16.
Therefore thus saith the Lord, " Behold, I will cast thee of
from the face of the earth ; this year thou shalt die, because thou
hast taught rehellioii against the Lord.''"'
Hananiah, the son of Azur, of Gibeon, a prophet of a false
and wicked character, in the days of Zedekiah, king of Tudea,
thought proper to oppose the prophet Jeremiah. In the course
of this opposition he denied the truth of his predictions ; and
declared, that God had revealed to him the disappointment and
overthrow of Nebuchadnezar, the ruin of his expedition, and the
liberation of the Jews from his yoke. All this he falsely declar-
ed. God had not sent him ; but he made the people of Jerusa-
lem " to trust in a lie." In consequence of this evil conduct,
God sent to him the prophet Jeremiah with this message : "Hear
now, Hananiah. The Lord hath not sent thee ; but thou makest
this people to trust in a lie. Therefore, thus saith the Lord, be-
hold, I will cast thee off from the face of the earth : this year
thou shalt die."
There is something peculiarly solemn and affecting in this re-
markable prediction ; and I cannot help believing, that it may
be made a profitable subject of our contemplations. To bring
death near to us; to recall our own personal interest in this migh-
ty change, the close of oiiv residence in the present world, a/id
the means of our mtroduction into another ; the termination of
"244 A SERMON [SER. XVII.
our connection with the body, and the commencement of our
separate existence ; the end of time, and the opening of eterni-
ty : has ever been a duty solemnly urged by divines and moralists,
and is plainly and powerfully commanded in the Scriotures. The
jndefiniteness of the subject, as thus enjoined, is, probably, one
great reason, why the injunction has so little influence. Death
is, undoubtedly, and is acknowledged to be, near ; and we as
well as others must unquestionably die. But our death may be
postponed to a comparatively late period ; and ten, twenty, or
fifty years, may intervene. Of all these we feel in the main se-
cure. With this stock before hand, we feel rich, and strong ;
consider ourselves as having much time laid up in store ; and
conclude, that we may safely, if not lawfully " take our ease, eat,
drink, and be merry." Hence the solemn warning, which, like
a knell, tolls the signal of our departure, is lost in deaf ears ;
and the pungent reproof loses its point against hearts, shielded
with this adamantine defence.
But were the divine able to come to us in the name of the
Lord ; and to tell us, with the dictates of Omniscience, that this
year we should die ; his messages would undoubtedly assume a
new and impressive character, and claim a regard hitherto un-
known. What he cannot thus do, we clearly may in some meas-
ure do for ourselves. We cannot determine, indeed, that this year
will end our present life, and consign us to the tomb ; that it will
finish our probation, and bring us to the judgment ; but we can,
with no uncommon effort of thought, suppose these events cer-
tainly to happen, during this period. We can behold ourselves
laid on the bed of sickness, within the next twelve months ; clos-
ing our eyes in death ; separated from the body ; ascending to
the bar of God ; giving our final account ; and entering upon
the "recompense of reward." We can suppose ourselves sol-
emnly warned by a prophet of God, as was Hananiah, that with-
in the year, which is begun, we shall die.
Were some one of this assembly thus certainly to be informed
by an undoubted message from heaven, that this was his own fu-
ture lot ; what would be his views, his emotions, his pursuits, du-
SER. XVII.J , FOR THE NEW YEAR. 245
ling the little period before him ? Such, I presume, generally, as
the following observations describe.
1 St. Worldly objects would then assume a totally new character.
The pleasures of the world, particularly, would lose all their
charms.
In our usual circumstances the pleasures of this world engross
a large share of our attention. To almost all men they are of
much importance ; to multitudes they are the only important
pleasures. To dress, to dance, to ride, to eat, to drink, to sport,
to indulge themselves in gaming, lewdness, sloth, splendour, and
gaiety ; is all for which multitudes live, and all which they esteem
worth pursuing. Mere grasshoppers, they sing and sport away
the summer of life in gay and jovial amusement ; and when the
melancholy and fatal winter arrives, have provided no safe re-
treat, no means of comfort or subsistence. The unheeded, un-
expected frost descends in a moment ; and they perish forever.
But on the arrival of this awful message, how changed would
be the feelings of him, to whom it was addressed ! Could he be
engaged by the idle ornaments of dress, who within a few days
was to be wrapped in a winding sheet ? Could he dance, who
was walking to the grave ? Could he pamper his body, who need-
ed every moment to feed his famishing soul with " the bread of
life ?" Could he sport, who was speedily to give his final account
"of all the deeds, done in the body," before " the Judge of the
quick and the dead V Could he game, who beheld the judgment
set, and heard the dreadful sentence, " Take ye the unprofitable
servant, and cast him into outer darkness, where shall be weep-
ing, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth," sounding in his ears ?
Could he be lewd, who, in full prospect, saw " the whore-mon-
gers, and fornicators, of this world" all condemned to suffer, and
actually suffering, the endless wrath of God, and the burnings of
devouring fire 1
Over all these objects would in his eye be cast a drear and
funereal aspect, which would render them merely sources of pain
and disgust. They would appear, not only as trifles lighter than
air, about which a rational and immortal being cannot, without
Vol. II. 32
246 A SERMON [SER. XVII.
gross impropriety and perversion, be seriously occupied ; but as
snares, by which he would be entangled before he was aware :
as enchantments, by which, if he yielded to them, he would be
charmed, benumbed, and destroyed. With the thought of yield-
ing to them he could not fail to associate the death of the soul,
and the miseries of damnation. Of course, he would regard
them only with astonishment and horror.
Nor would the Business of this world be much less changed to
his eye.
To him, who, as he " brought nothing into this world, can car-
ry nothing out of it," who was about to be laid in the solitary
grave, who now found himself to be in real good, " poor, and
miserable, and blind, and naked, and literally in want of all
things ;" it could certainly be no favourite employment to watch,
and care, and toil, that he might lay up an additional heap of
dust, however shining, and however coveted by others. Should
he enlarge his breadth of land, so as to comprise an additional
farm, or manor ; he could not fail to remember how soon six feet
of earth would be all which he could occupy.
Nor could he be engaged by the pursuits of ambition. The
breath of popularity, could have no fragrance to him ; the trum-
pet of fame, no melody ; the splendour of office, no charms ; the
possession of power, no allurement ; when he found himself the
speedy victim of death, the prey of worms, and the feast of cor-
ruption. He might labour to provide ; but it would be the
means of supporting, and adorning his soul. He might be ambi-
tious, but he would aim at " the honour, which cometh from God
only." He might covet dominion ; but it would be the dominion
over his own lusts, temptations, and spiritual enemies. All his
ardent pursuit of worldly good would be cold and icy ; his pride
would sink into the dust ; his rivalry expire ; and the stormy pas-
sions, which made his mind a troubled ocean, would have spent
their force, and settle into a calm, sluggish and dead.
A stranger ; alone ; directing his course onward to the invisible
world ; he would find no interest in the bustle of this : and, re-
gardless of the turmoil around him, or regarding it only with
SER. XVII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 247
amazement and terror, he would keep his own eye fixed steadily
on the solemn scenes before him, and " turn not aside to the right
hand, nor to the left."
2dly. Moral and Religions subjects would, also, in the eye of
such a man be invested with a new character.
Among the things, whioh would pecuharly change their aspect
in his view, the Scriptures would hold a prominent place. To
men on a dying bed the Scriptures often assume a new charac-
ter. Probably in the eye of most men, in this country, they ap-
pear to be the Word of God. Few at least discover any disposi-
tion to deny their divine origin. Still they regard them much as
Epicurus regarded his gods ; as objects, with which they have
Jittle or no concern ; good enough indeed in themselves, but of
very httle consequence to them. Accordingly they are laid up
on a shelf, or secreted in a book-case ; and are brought out to
view only on rare and peculiar occasions. When they are read,
the solemn and alarming, the bright and glorious truths, which
they contain, are read as idle tales ; which are faintly believed,
and scarcely regarded.
But in the eye of this candidate for eternity, the Scriptures
would become, as to men on a dying bed, the real Word of God ;
containing his holy will concerning our duty and worship, and
the news and the means of everlasting life. In them he could
not fail to discern, that God spoke, and spoke to him. His voice
would be invested with a majesty, awfulness, and authority, re-
sembling that with which he spoke from Mount Sinai ; and that,
with which he will speak at the final day. Every thing, which is
said in them, would be regarded as real, and certain ; would be
felt as addressed to himself; as describing his own case; as un-
folding his own guilt, dangers and necessities ; and as pointing
out hope, relief, and safety, indispensable to him. Every doc-
trine would be acknowledged to enlighten ; every ordinance to
direct ; and every precept to bind, with a sanction infinite. Eve-
ry threatening, seen to convey the certain, future destiny of all
those who came within its reach ; would alarm, and amuse.
Every promise, seen, with the like certainty, to assure to all, who
248 A SERMON [SER. XVII.
embraced it, peace, and light, and hope, the favour of God, and
the inheritance of immortal life ; would invite, encourage and
strengthen. In a word, while searching the sacred volume he
Avould seem to stand before the Shechinah ; to present his enqui-
ries in the holy place, and to hear from behind the cloud of glory
the answer of Jehovah, concerning sin and holiness, life and
death, judgment and eternity, heaven and hell.
Among the themes, which would most affect his soul in this
interesting condition, his own guilt and ruin, as disclosed in the
Scriptures, would hold an eminent place. There, as in a clear,
undeceiving mirror, he would see himself a sinner, originally de-
praved ; daily corrupted by the indulgence of passion and appe-
tite, " the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of
life," obedience to temptation, and the imitation of pernicious
example ; possessing a '' heart, deceitful above all things, and
desperately wicked ;" reproved, warned, allured, and entreated,
day by day ; yet day by day " hardening his neck," and thus de-
serving to " be suddenly destroyed, and that without remedy."
There he would discover, with a clearness next to intuitive, that
in himself, his labours, his prayers, his efforts, considered by
themselves, there was neither recovery, nor hope ; that, however
sedulously, or confidently, he " kindled the fire" of self-righteous-
ness, " and compassed himself with its sparks ;" and however
comfortably he "walked in the light of" that fire, still "his por-
tion" from the hand " of God" must be " to lie down in sorrow."
From this melancholy and benumbing prospect would he not
instinctively turn his eye, to find relief from his distresses ? On
the same sacred page he would find a Saviour, portrayed by an
Infinite hand, in colours of immortal beauty and splendour : a
Saviour of his own hneage and kindred ; " meek and lowly of
heart ; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; despised
and rejected of men ;" living in poverty, and persecution ; and
dying with disgrace and agony : yet a Saviour divinely wise, and
great, and good : in the one character proving himself capa-
ble of condescending to his own lowly state, pitying his distress-
es, and expiating his guilt ; in the other, of forgiving his sins.
SER. XVII.J FOR THE NEW YEAR. <249
renewing his soul, enabling him to triumph over death and the
grave, and conferring on him endless life and glory. To this di-
vine person, who died, that he might live, who rose again from
the dead, that he might obtain the resurrection of life ; who as-
cended to heaven, as the forerunner of all his followers "that
he might prepare a place for them" in the '' mansions" of his
" Father's house ;" would he not come, " labouring and heavy
laden" to " find rest" for his soul 1 Would he not willingly "take"
his "yoke upon him ?" Would he not cheerfully assume his " bur-
den" ? Would he not think " the yoke easy?" Would he not
find the "burden light?" Must not the tidings, that "a Saviour
is born in the city of David," be now to him " tidings of great
joy ?" Must he not join with the Angels in ascribing " Glory to
God in the highest, that peace" was proclaimed " on earth, and
good will towards men ?"
With what reverence, with what amazement, would he hear
the Creator of the heavens, and the earth, proclaiming himself
" the Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious ; long suffering ;
slow to anger ; abundant in goodness, and truth ; forgiving ini-
quity, transgression, and sin ; and that will by no means clear
the" impenitently " guilty !" How would he tremble with aston-
ishment and delight, when he read, " Thus saith the high and
lofty One, that inhabiteth eternity, ' I dwell in the high and holy
place ; with him also, that is of a contrite and humble spirit ; to
revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the
contrite. For I will not contend forever ; neither will I be always
wroth ; lest the spirit should fail before me, and the souls which
I have made.' "
With what joy would he hear the Evangelical messenger pro-
claim, that " God is in Christ, reconciling the world unto himself;
not imputing their trespasses unto them ?" and another divinely
commissioned herald following after him, and announcing the
sum of infinite excellence, in the single and endearing word,
" God is love ?" Could he fail to give up himself to this God, as
a penitent, returning child ; and to choose him as his " father and
everlasting friend."
250 A SERMON [SER. XVII.
The Sabbath., also, neglected perhaps, and forgotten, or wan-
tonly violated, profaned, and spent in idleness, sleep, business,
and sin ; would now claim a high importance, a heavenly distmc-
tion. " This is the day," would he naturally exclaim, " which the
Lord hath made. I will rejoice and be glad in it ; 1 will take the
cup of salvation, and pay my vows. To day," let me " not har-
den my heart, lest I perish," as those, " whose carcases fell in the
wilderness. Behold, now is the accepted time ! Behold, now is
the day of salvation !" Let me now " do what my hand findeth
to do, with my might ; for there is no work, device, knowledge,
nor wisdom, in the grave, whither I go."
What would keep this man from the house of God ? Would he
suffer an ordinary dress, a slight indisposition, a cold or showery
day, to stand between him and heaven ? What would wnhdraw
his mind from the solemn service of the sanctuary ? Would his
heart wander after his covetousness, or his pleasures ? Would he
complain of the style, or the utterance, of the preacher ? Would
he turn away his ear from the message of God, the warning of
destruction, the voice of pardon, or the promise of hfe ; because
it was announced by a plain man, and in an ungraceful manner ?
When the messenger of Christ came to him, with the tidings of
peace, reconciliation, the resurrection of life, and eternal glory ;
would he find leisure, or inclination, to scrutinize his dress, his
air, and his accomplishments ? Would he not, on the contrary,
forgetful of all things else, look to the mercy-seat ; to behold a
dying and risen Saviour, and an efficacious atonement ; and to
hear the sound of forgiven sin, and the voice of an approving
God ? Would he not cry out, " How amiable are thy taberna-
cles, O Lord of hosts ! My heart and my flesh cryeth out for the
living God. Blessed are they that dwell in thy house. Behold,
O God, our shield, and look upon the face of thine anointed. A
day, spant in thy courts, is better than a thousand : I would rather
be a door-keeper in the house of God, than dwell in the tents of
wickedness. The Lord God is a sun, and shield. The Lord will
give grace and glory : no good thing will he withhold from them
that walk uprightly. O Lord of Hosts, blessed is the man, that
irusteth in thee ! "
SER. XVII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 25 1
Christians^ also, before objects of neglect, perhaps of con-
tempt, and derision, pitied as weak and credulous, and despised
as destitute of sense and spirit, would now become possessed of
an importance wholly new. To " walk with wise men," he would
learn from God himself, was the way to become wise. As com-
panions, as friends, as instructors, as examples, he would seek
their aid, countenance, and direction. To them would he, of
course, unbosom all his sins, and fears, and sorrows. From them
would he seek and find direction concerning the path, in which
he wished to walk ; companions, to cheer and encourage his
journey ; and motives, to persevere to the end. By them would
he find his sorrows soothed, his fears allayed, and his hopes bright-
ened ; and in them would he find that tenderness, that evangeli-
cal sympathy, which " weeps with such as weep, and rejoices
with such as rejoice," blending itself with all his interests, and
mingling tears, and smiles and joys, with his.
These men also he would consider as the only rational inhabi-
tants of the present world. He would see and acknowledge, that
they, and they only, had lived to good purpose ; had fulfilled the
end of their being ; had secured themselves from disappointment,
shame, and ruin, in the future world, and " laid up in store a good
foundation for the time to come." Hence in his eye they would
claim a total superiority over all others ; and would be regarded
with a respect and estimation totally singular.
Wicked meri^ on the contrary, however regarded by him during
his former life, would appear of necessity as fools and madmen.
All their boasted sagacity and worldly wisdom would in his view
be nothing but specious distraction ; all their bustle about wealth,
fame, office, power, splendour, and sensuality, would appear like
the scrambles of bedlam. " What profit," would he exclaim,
" is there in the things, of which" these miserable wretches must
one day " be ashamed ? for the end of" all " these things," as
pursued by them, " is death." Of course their arguments, al-
lurements, example, and authority, would all vanish ; and them-
selves, and their works, pursuits, and enjoyments, would be writ-
ten down by him "vanity and vexation of spirit." Nor would
252 A SERMON [SER. XVIL
their numbers at all increase their weight or their influence. He
would naturally remember, that " the way" of destruction " is
broad," as well as " crooked, and multitudes have ever gone in
thereat :" and he would infinitely rather rest peacefully and safely
in the ark, with the little family of Noah, while " the windows of
heaven were opened, and the fountains of the great deep were
broken up ;" than to perish in the general ruin of a world, with
all its millions of inhabitants.
In the mean time, with what feelings would he regard Eterni-
ty ? How solemnly would he fix his eyes on a dying bed ; and
mark the king of terrors in his still and awful approach to sum-
mon him away ? With what emotions would he cast his view
forward beyond the grave, and see the Judge ascending the last
tribunal ; the judgment in a sense begun ; the books opened ;
and himself called to a final "account of all the deeds done in
the body?" Still beyond, would rise in amazing prospect the
boundless ocean, upon the shore of which he would feel that he
was now standing, ready to launch on its unfathomable waters,
bound on a voyage of endless duration, and of importance, which
cannot be measured. In eternity all his concerns would lie.
Time to him would soon be no more. Its last suns would be
rolling through the heavens ; and its evening would be preparing
to finish the little day of hfe. With time he would feel but one
concern ; and that would be to employ its remaining hours in
diligent preparation for eternity.
With such views, what would be his conduct.^ His closet
would summon him, with Daniel, " three times a day to bow his
knees before the Father of all mercies," to confess his sins ; ac-
knowledge the divine goodness to him ; and ask humbly for the
forgiveness of his sins, and the salvation of his soul. Witli the
Bereans, he would " search the Scriptures" daily for " the words
of eternal life." With David, he would be glad when they
said unto him, " Come, let us go up to the house of the Lord."
In all his concerns with his fellow men, he would labour " to
do justly, and to shew mercy ;" and in all his concerns with God,
to " walk humbly before him."
SER. XVII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 253
In a word, he would strive to become a reasonable being, to
act as an intelligent creature ; an heir of eternity ; a candidate
for life everlasting.
I say, he would thus act. By this I mean, however, that, if
he were not a sot, a fool, a madman, such would be his conduct.
That such it ought to be will, I presume be acknowledged by all
who hear me.
But, if this would be, and ought to be, the conduct of a man
solemnly warned by God, that within a year he should die ; let
us examine our own situation, and see how far our conduct ought
to resemble his. If the resemblance be great and essential, and
the difference trifling and insignificant ; then it will follow, that
what would be his duty and wisdom, must be ours.
We are not, indeed, thus solemnly and directly admonished
of the time of our departure by the voice of a Prophet : but we
are taught with irresistible certainty, by the Word and Provi-
dence of God, that within this year we may, not improbably,
die ; and that within a little period we shall certainly die. Of
the four hundred mortal beings, who are now before me, several
will in all probability go to the grave, and to the judgment, be-
fore another sun shall have rounded the year. How many we
know not: who they will be, we know not. The uncertainty
concerning each should make each feel, that the case may be his
own. No one is probably more interested in this affecting sub-
ject than the preacher himself. It becomes me, therefore ; it be-
comes every one of those who hear me ; to bring the case home,
to ourselves ; to lay strong hold on all the consequences ; and
" so to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto
wisdom,"
The first great question, here to be asked, is. Are we ready to
die ? This is to be answered by asking again. Is our peace made
■with God ? Are our sins forgiven ? Are our souls interested in the
merits of Christ? Have we embraced him with the faith of the
Gospel ? Have we repented of our sins ; Have we turned to God
with all the heart ? If we can answer these questions in the af-
VoT.. II. 33
254 A SERMOiN [SKR- XVII.
firmative, it will be well with us ; and we have already secured
the great end of our being.
But if not, what ought to be our conduct ? Can we look at
this subject ; can we ponder death and the grave, judgment, and
eternity, heaven and hell ; with coldness and indifference ? Have
you ever thought what it is to die ; to appear before God; alone,
unemhodied ; to be tried, and judged, and sentenced, and "- re-
warded, according to your works ?" Have you considered the
suspended state of an immortal mind ; the exposure of eternal
interests to final ruin ; the immense hazard of a cold and stupid,
a worldly and guilty, probationer for eternal hfe and death? Have
you weighed, have you reckoned up, what it is to lose heaven,
and to be sent down to hell? Arc you prepared to enter eternity
with all your sins on your heads ? Can you flee from the presence,
the power, and the hand, of God ? Can you evade the search of
his all-seeing eye ? Can you " abide in the day of his anger, and
stand in the time of his indignation ?" When is your preparation
to shun the dangers before you, to escape from a guilty, rebell-
ious character, a fearful condemnation, and final perdition, to
begin ? Have you resolved on the time ? Is it at hand ? If it is '
" go on and prosper ;" and may " the Lord lift upon you the
light of his countenance, and be gracious to you !"
If not ; let me propose to you a time for this solemn purpose.
You have just ended a year, which God has given to you, that
you might obtain salvation. You arc commencing through his
mercy and long suffering a new year, allotted, so far as you will
be permitted to enjoy it, for the same end. All your preceding
years are lost ; not gone merely, but wasted with a dangerous
and fatal prodigality. It is time, that you began to husband
your day of grace, and to save the remainder of the accepted
time.
This day let God be a witness of your first determination to
renounce iniquity, and turn to him ; to repent of your sins ; to
beheve on the Lord Jesiis Christ, and to yield yourselves to him
as a faithf'^l and free-will offering. Let this new year bring you
to a new, humble, obedient, and spiritual life. Let your "■ old
SER. XVII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 255
man" be " put away with his deeds, Avhich are corrupt, and put
on the new man, which, after God, is created in righteousness
and true hohness."
Remember, that you are creatures of God ; dependent on his
bounty for Hfe, and all its blessings and hopes ; that he is now
waiting on you to be gracious, and to save your souls alive ; and
that he " has no pleasure in the death of the sinner, but would
rather that he would return, and repent, and live."
This day has he been present in this house ; he is now present,
with opened arms, to receive and bless you. Will you not meet
him, and receive his blessing ?
Feel, I beseech you, that you are dying creatures. Feel, that
the message in the text, may truly be directed to you. To some
or other of you it will in all probability be directed. Act then,
as you would act, if the voice of the prophet were still sounding
in your ears ; " This year thou shalt die." All that would be
proper for the man whose case I have proposed, must, essentially,
be proper for you. You, like him, stand upon the brink of the
grave, on the border of eternity. You, like him, are hastening to
the judgment, to the recompense of reward. Your hfe is, like his,
" a vapour, which appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth
away." The remaining days and hours ought, therefore, to be
anxiously employed in preparing for these amazing events. The
world ought to lose its hold on you, as on him. Its business, its
honours, its pleasures, ought to have no place in your hearts ;
except as your duty is concerned. Your whole business here is
plainly to prepare for hereafter. Nothing here ought to stand
between you and your duty ; between you and your God. Shall
time prevent you from acquiring the blessings of eternity ? Shall
earth withdraw you from heaven ? You have the Gospel in your
hands ; you enjoy the sabbath 4 you frequent the sanctuary. All
things are " given to you richly to enjoy." Every means of
grace, every hope of salvation, is placed freely and bountifully in
your hands. You hear the calls of mercy ; the invitations to faith,
repentance, and hohness, the proffers of endless life and glory.
The Saviour cries to you, " Come unto me all ye that labour and
256 A SERMON [SER. XVII.
are heavy laden, and 1 will give you rest." He is evidently set
before you, crucified for your sins. He entreats you daily to be
reconciled to God ; and points to his own wounds, and to his
flowing blood, with infinite compassion, to compel you by motives
irresistible. Why will you not comply 'I Should an enemy, mali-
cious, sagacious, and implacable beyond example, and fraught
with the spirit of a fiend, contrive to lull you into security, allure
you to sin, harden your hearts, and blind your minds, in such a
manner as to ruin your souls, and lead you to final perdition ;
what would be your views concerning the character of such a be-
ing, when you came to the miseries of damnation ? Would you
not think eternity too short to vent all your resentment against
the murderer of your souls '( What other part are you now act-
ing ? Every sin which you commit, every season of grace which
you lose, every warning which you cast away, is a proof, that you
are suicides ; suicides of your souls ; destroyers of immortal life.
What sentence ought you then to pass on your conduct ; on your-
selves? Awake from this sleep of stupidity, sottishness, and death.
Resume your reason. Pteturn to your God ; to repentance, faith,
and hope, to holiness and heaven. Retire to your closets, shut
your doors, and " pray to your father which is in secret." Let
heaven, for the first time, hear a fervent, honest prayer ascend
for the forgiveness of your sins. Give to good men here, and to
angels there, a hope, that their joy shall be renewed over your
repentance. Let God be able to say concerning each of you,
" Behold he prayeth."
Betake yourselves to the Word of life. Search the Scriptures.
Ponder the descriptions of your character ; the threatenings
against your sins ; the invitations to repentance and reformation ;
the infinite love of the Saviour ; the abounding compassion of
God ; the glorious mission of the spirit of grace ; and the bright
and luminous hopes of immortal life. Think what you will be,
if impenitent ; what you may be, if you please ; aiid what you
will be if you repent. Weigh endless life with the loss of the
pleasures of sin, and endless death with the enjoyment of those
pleasures ; and carefully cast up the difference. Think how you
SER. XVII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 257
would feel, if a messenger from heaven were to announce to you
your certain and final damnation ; and then call to mind, that
you are daily announcing this tremendous allotment, by your
own continuance in sin. Lo ! life and death are set before you.
" Choose you, therefore, this day, whom you will serve ;'''' God
or the World. Choose whether you will go down to perdition,
or ascend to everlasting life : and may Infinite Mercy enable
you to make a choice, in which you will find peace and consola-
tion throughout eternity. Amen.
SERMON XVIII.
A SERMON FOR THE NEW YEAR.
Preached January, 1809.
Luke xiii. 6 — 9.
He spake also this parable. " A certain man had a fig-tree,
planted in his vineyard : and he came, and sought fruit thereon,
and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard,
Behold, these three years I come, seeking fruit on this fig-tree,
and find none : cut it down ; why cumhereth it the ground ? And
he, answering, said unto him. Lord, let it alone this year also, till
I shall dig about it, and dung it : And if it bear fruit, well ; and
if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.''''
This parable seems to have been addressed originally to the
Jews. They had been long a peculiar object of divine cultiva-
tion ; and at the time, when the parable was delivered, were
eminently unfruitful. A sentence of excision was gone out
against them ; but was stayed in its execution by the heavenly
Vine Dresser : by Him, who said, " O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, that
killest the prophets, and stonest them that are sent unto thee !"
by Him, who wept over the future miseries of this devoted na-
tion, at the very time when they were preparing to imbrue their
hands in his blood. Accordingly, God waited upon them to be
gracious ; and came many years, seeking fruit, and finding none.
At length, however, he destroyed them with a terrible destruc-
tion by the Roman armies, under the command of Titus. From
the date of this fact, they have been dispersed among all the na-
tions of men ; cast out of the Church ; and given up to hard-
ness of heart.
SER. XVIII.] A SERMON FOR THE NEW YEAR. 259
But, although this parable has a primary reference to the
Jews, it is plainly intended to have a reference much more ex-
tensive, and therefore much more important. It was spoken for
their admonition : it was written for ours. It was originally ad-
dressed to the Jews. Through the Gospel it has ever since been
addressed to Christians. Every person, who lives under the Gos-
pel, is here exhibited as a tree, planted by the hand of God in a
vineyard, in a soil, and in circumstances, naturally rendering it
fruitful ; as cultivated with attentive care ; and as reasonably ex-
pected to bring forth fruit. The fruit expected, also, is figs ;
pleasant, healthful, and useful. Of these trees, however, some
are represented as being, notwithstanding all these advantages,
absolutely barren ; and as thus disappointing, repeatedly, the ex-
pectations formed by the Owner of the Vineyard. After wait-
ing long, and looking frequently, to find fruit on them, he pro-
nounces them to be not only useless, but nuisances ; and directs
them to be cut down, and cast out of the Vineyard, as mere
" cumberers of the ground." The Vine Dresser, however, soli-
cits for them a little longer respite, in order to bestow on them a
greater measure of care and cultivation : but if, with these pecul-
iar advantages, they should still continue barren ; even he con-
sents, that they should be destroyed. The following doctrines
are therefore, I think evidently, contained in the Text.
1st. Mankind, under the Gospel, are placed by God in air-
cmnstances, pecidmrly fitted to make them fruitful in righteous-
ness.
Fig-trees, planted in a rich soil, and carefully cultivated, will
yield fruit, if they will yield it at all.
2dly. When God has waited a reasonable time, and finds
them barren, and useless, in the world, he determines to destroy
them.
" Behold these three years I come, seeking fruit on this fig-tree,
and find none : cut it down : why cumbereth it the ground ?"
Three years are certainly a sufficient period to determine
Avhether a tree, of mature growth, will yield fruit, or not. By
■2G0 A'SERMON [SER. XVIII
this period we are plainly taught, that the time, during which
God waits upon sinners, is a sutiicient one to decide this point.
3dly. By the intercession of his servants the patience of God
towards sinners is prolonged^ until there is no more hope concern-
ing them.
"And he, answering, said unto him, ' Lord, let it alone this
year also, till I sliall dig about it, and dung it : and, if it bear
fruit, well ; and, if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.' "
4th]y. The means of Divine cultivation furnish important hope
for sinners.
Otherwise the observations in the two last quoted verses would
have no meaning.
That all these Doctrines are contained in the text, as well as
that they are all true, is so obvious, that eftbrts to render them
more so would be made to no purpose. My proper business,
therefore, will be to make a direct application of them to this
Assembly.
1st. This Cotigregation consists of those, who have been bom,
and educated, under all the privileges of the Gospel.
All those, who are before me, have been born in a Christian
land. From the morning of Life, you have all received a reli-
gious education. You have been taught to read from the begin-
ning ; and thus have enjoyed the privilege of an open, and daily,
access to the Bible, for divine knowledge. The venerable and
affecting instructions of parents have been given you, from the
time, when you were first able to receive them. From the same
period, you have had the privilege of beholding the life and con-
versation of good men ; and have daily seen them in a manner
too evident, and too unexceptionable, to be questioned, " adorn
the doctrine of God, their Saviour," The Sabbath, peculiarly
the day of grace, eminently the accepted time ; the divine sea-
son, in which all good things descend upon this unhappy world ;
has been made known to you in the amplest manner ; and re-
turned, weekly, to shower its blessings upon your heads. Week-
ly, has the Sanctuary opened its peaceful doors, to invite your
feet, and allure your hearts, into the presence of a forgiving God.
SER. XVIII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 26 1
The Voice of Mercy has there proclaimed in your ears, " glory
to God in the highest ; peace on earth, and good will towards
men." Here you have been brought to the foot of the Mercy-
Seat, to spread your sins before your Maker, and to make known
to him your wants, infirmities, and dangers. Here the awful
character of this great and glorious Being has been unfolded to
your view. You have learned, irresistibly and abundantly, that
to the eye of his unspotted purity " the heavens are not clean ;"
and that Man, therefore, who " drinketh iniquity like water,"
cannot but be regarded by him with detestation and abhorrence.
At the same time, you have been taught, that his name is " the
Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious ; slow to anger ;
abundant in goodness and truth ; forgiving iniquity, transgres-
sion, and sin ;" although " he will by no means clear the" im-
penitently " guilty."
In this solemn place, the Law of God, in its nature perfect and
divine ; supremely delightful to all virtuous beings ; and to the
great kingdom of Jehovah the source of boundless and immor-
tal good ; but terrible beyond expression to all the workers of in-
iquity ; has thundered its denunciations against your rebellion.
In the same place, also, the Gospel has proclaimed to you from
the world of glory, "there is more joy in heaven over one sinner
that repenteth, than over ninety and nine just persons, who need
no repentance." " Whosoever will," therefore, " let him come,
and take of the water of life freely."
Here the Saviour of Mankind, who, great and exalted as he is,
and ever was, has always " rejoiced in the habitable parts of the
earth and found his delights with the sons of men," has presented
himself before your eyes as a Lamb, slain for your sins, " from the
foundation of the world." Infinitely rich, he has here shown you,
that " for your sakes he became poor, that you through him might
become rich." You have seen him descend from heaven, and
dwell with the sons of men ; become " a man of sorrows, and ac-
quainted with grief," poor, humble, despised, rejected of men,
and unpossessed of a place, where to lay his head. You have
seen him ascend the cross ; and nailed to the accursed tcee. His
Vol. H. M
262 A SERMON [SER. XVIIf.
body has been broken, his blood has been poured out, before your
eyes. You have witnessed his expiring agonies ; have heard his
dying exclamations ; and have followed him to the grave. You
have seen him rise from the dead, ascend to heaven, and " sit
down at the right hand of the majesty on high."
At this very moment this divine person stands before you on
Mount Zion, surrounded with his glorious followers, " redeemed
jfrom among" men, and the first fruits unto God ; singing the new
song of forgiving, redeeming, and sanctifying love. This delight-
ful assembly invite you with unspeakable earnestness and affec-
tion, and have here weekly invited you, to become partakers of
their everlasting joy.
To these invitations " the Spirit of Truth" has here, and every-
where, subjoined his own voice of infinite mercy ; and mingled his
entreaties with those of the Father and the Son. He dictated
the Gospel, and all its invitations. He has accompanied you,
wherever you have been ; and whispered to you, with a " still,
small voice," faith, repentance, and salvation, from the cradle to
the present hour. With this glorious person " the bride," the
Church of God, has united her own earnest persuasion, and cal-
led out to you, " come, and take the water of life freely."
In the mean time, you have not been invited and alarmed,
only. You have also been warned, and reproved. Sickness,
sorrow, and pain, have checked you in the career of sin, and ad-
monished you to be ready for your final account. Danger has
warned you of your near approach to eternity. Death, aiming
his fatal dart against one and another of your friends and com-
panions, has made you tremble for yourselves ; and awakened in
your minds fearful apprehensions of an approaching judgment.
The grave, with an awful voice, has summoned you to its secret
and melancholy chambers, to behold the " house appointed for
all living ;" assembled before your eyes the unnumbered millions,
who inhabit these dark recesses ; and, among them, has selected
for your solemn survey those of your own age, circumstances, ac-
quaintance, and friendship, who have gone before you to these
mansions of silence and oblivion. All this vast multitude have
SJER. XVIII.3 FOR THE NEW YEAR. 0(33
cried out to you with one affecting voice, " remember, frail and
dying mortals, that this is your last home."
In the mean time, you have been solemnly reproved for your
sins by the Word of God. Every page of this sacred book,
whenever you have read it, has addressed to you plain and pun-
gent reproofs of all your transgressions. Whenever you have not ;
the very sight of it has silently and powerfully reproached you
for your spiritual sloth, and guilty negligence. From the desk
the same reproofs have been weekly explained, urged, and enfor-
ced upon you. To these monitors your parents have added
themselves ; and in a thousand forms, and on a thousand occa-
sions, have " pricked you to the heart" with their remonstrances
against your sins. To all, your own consciences have answered
Amen ; and have awakened in your bosoms remorse for your
guilt, and the terrors of your future trial.
Seasons at the same time have rolled around you, to shower
their bounties upon your heads. Blessings have danced and
sported before you in trains innumerable. The hand of your di-
vine Benefactor, working every where, and in every thing, has
wrought only kindness for you. With the hand of bounty, with
the voice of mercy, he has charmed you to himself in a manner
worthy of a God.
All these blessings, both spiritual and temporal ; all these in-
structions, invitations, warnings, and reproofs, have been commu-
nicated to you, particularly, throughout the year which has just
finished its circuit. No year of your lives has, perhaps, been
more illumined by the beams of mercy. No days have, perhaps,
more strongly witnessed the goodness, patience, and forbearance,
of God. Your hfe, your health, your presence in this house, your
attendance on these solemn ordinances, are all unanswerable tes-
timonies of the divine mercy. Not even a single day, out of the
three hundred and sixty five, which this year has contained, has
passed by you, without leaving both its blessings, and its admo-
nitions, behind.
2dly. From persons^ thus situated, God has reasonably ex-
pected to find fruits of piety and righteousness.
264 A SERMON [SER. XVfll.
The observations, made under the former head, are ample
proofs, that God has been long employed in preparing you to be-
come fruitful. Your present age forcibly declares, that the time
has long since arrived, when this character ought to have been
found upon you. That God has waited long you cannot deny.
That he has often come, seeking the fruits of holiness in your
hearts and in your lives, you will not dare to question. That he
has called you to faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, to a sincere re-
pentance of your sins, to a diligent reformation of your lives, to
the supreme love and reverence of himself, and to an universal
beneficence to your fellow men; and that he has called you to
these things, times and ways innumerable ; you cannot but know.
Nor can you allege a reason, why you have not become penitent,
believing, and obedient. These things every reason enforces up-
on you. Every reason enforces his right to demand, as well as
to expect, them at your hands. He has given you knowledge to
discern, and opportunities to perform, all your duty. Before you
he has daily spread motives of the highest import, to induce your
obedience : motives infinite, awfully alarming, and immensely en-
dearing.
If then you have not been fruitful in his service ; if you have
not believed ; if you have not obeyed ; it is not because you have
wanted either the opportunities, the means, or the motives. Your
own disobedient, sinful, barren nature has been the real reason ;
and not any want of attention, care, or culture, from him. The
fault is yours ; and the charge will rest ultimately upon your own
heads.
3dly. There is much reason to believe, that many of you have,
notwithstanding all these advantages, been loholly unfruitful.
Your life and conversation yield no substantial or satisfactory
proofs, that you have ever exercised the faith of the Gospel.
There is no visible evidence, that Christ has become a Saviour to
you. He has solemnly declared, that those, who "do not confess
him before men, he will not confess" at the final day. But you
do not confess him before men. He has declared, that those are
" his disciples, indeed, who do his commandments." But you do
SER. XVIII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 2G5
not his commandments. Where are the proofs, even to the eye
of the most affectionate charity, that you sincerely repent of your
sins ; humble yourselves before God ; love his Name, his Word,
his Law, or his Gospel. Does it seem true, even to yourselves,
that you are friends of the Redeemer, children of God, and heirs
of his everlasting love.
Have you even begun to do well ; to seek the favour of God ;
or to ask, in earnest, for the forgiveness of your sins ? When has
the house of God, when have your closets, been witnesses of
your prayers ? When has God been a witness of your humble
supplication to him, to remember you with his mercy, blot out
your transgressions, and save your souls ? Has " the Angel, who
offereth the prayers of the saints with much incense," ever been
furnished with an opportunity of offering yours ? If you have
not obeyed God in these things ; you certainly have not obeyed
him in any thing else. If you have not done good to yourselves;
you certainly have not, from the heart, done good to others.
Is there not, then, the most fearful reason to believe, that you
have not even entered upon that " patient continuance in well-
doing," which is the strait and narrow way, to " glory, honour,
and immortality?" Is not the love of the world your controlling,
and only, principle of action ? Are not all your thoughts worldly
thoughts ? Are not all your wishes worldly wishes ? Are not all
your plans, plans of pleasure, ambition, and avarice. Is it not
evident to yourselves, as well as to the attentive eyes of the reli-
gious persons around you, that your hearts are " choked by the
cares and pleasures of this life," and are thus rendered wholly
unfruitful in the service of God. Have you not, at times, had
seasons of more than common seriousness and concern, about
your moral and your future state 1 Did you not then feel, that
you were sinners : that repentance and reformation were abso-
lutely necessary for you ; and, therefore that you were still stran-
gers to God, and " to the covenant of promise ?"
But whether you have been conscious of these things, or not ;
others have known them. A fluttering, vain, pleasure-loving life
is complete proof of a fluttering, vain, pleasure-loving heart. A
266 A SERMON [SER. XVIII.
worldly mind is employed and discovered, in the eager pursuit
of worldly objects. " This is the love of God, that we keep his
commandments." He, who does not keep these commandments,
does not love their Author. These things being true, there is,
4thly. No small reason to fear, that God has said, or will soon
say, of some or other of you, " Lo these three years I have come,
seeking fruit of these trees and finding none. Cut them doivn.
Why cumber they the ground .^"
The patience and forbearance of God extend to every man
but a limited time. His own day is allotted to every man ; as
theirs was to the inhabitants of Jerusalem. " If in this day they
know the things of their peace ;" it is happy: if not ; they are
forever " hidden from their eyes."
This period, every man ought to remember, may to him, be
shorter than his life. There are transgressions so violent ; there
is an obstinacy of mind so obdurate ; there is a corruption so en-
tire ; as to terminate the hope, and the day, of salvation in final
and judicial impenitence.
Suffer not yourselves to believe, that reprobation is the conse-
quence of those only, which you are accustomed to consider as
gross and scandalous sins. That terrible rejection,' so affectingly
announced in the first chapter of Proverbs by Christ, the Eternal
Wisdom of God, is founded upon far other sins, than these; upon
sins, which you probably have thought of little consequence ;
the sins of unbelief, impenitence, and neglect of duty. " Be-
cause I have called," says the awful and final Judge, " and ye
refused ; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded :
but ye have set at nought all my cousel, and would none of my
reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity ; I will mock when
your fear cometh ; when your fear cometh as desolation ; and
your destruction cometh as a whirlwind : when distress and an-
guish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon me ; but I
will not answer : they shall seek me early ; but they shall not
find me : For that they hated knowledge, and did not choose
the fear of the Lord." Let me beseech you to remember how
often Christ has called to you, and how steadily you have refused;
SER. XVIir.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 267
how often, and how earnestly, He has " stretched out his hand"
to you, and how uniformly you have disregarded. Let me be-
seech you to remember, with what constancy of character you
"have set at nought all his counsel, and" cast away "his reproof."
Ought you not, then, to tremble, lest he also should " laugh at
your calamity, and mock when your fear cometh." Ought you
not to shudder, lest he should say of you, " Then shall they call
upon me ; but I will not answer ; they shall seek me early ; but
they shall not find me ; because they hated knowledge, and did
not choose the fear of the Lord." Are not the very sins, of
which many in this assembly are, and have long been, unques-
tionably guilty, exactly and terribly declared in this passage ?
Are you not conscious, that these sins are yours ? Whence then
can you hope to escape this dreadful denunciation ?
There are, God himself assures you that there are, men, " who
after their hard and impenitent hearts treasure up wrath against
the day of wrath, and the revelation of the righteous judgment
of God." There are "vessels of wrath, endured" by God
" with much long suffering" while they " are fitting for destruc-
tion." Are you assured that you are not of this unhappy number ?
Your hearts, hitherto, have been hard and impenitent. Have
not you then, like others of this character, " treasured up," to
the present time, " wrath against the day of wrath ?" Your in-
gratitude, impiety, and rebellion, have hitherto been endured,
and certainly not, without " much long suffering." Is there not,
then, very affecting reason to fear, that you are " vessels of wrath,
fitting for destruction."
But you are still endured. The invaluable season of life is still by
the hand of Mercy prolonged to you. Is not this blessing derived to
you from a source, similar to that, mentioned in the Text ; the in-
tercession of those religious friends, whose character you have per-
haps despised, whose instructions you have disregarded, whose re-
proofs you have resented, and whose example you have disdained to
follow? They, with a disposition far different from yours, have pitied
your insensibility to your danger ; and your regular, and by your-
selves unperceived, approach to final ruin. Accordingly, while you
268 A SERMON [SER. XVIII.
were asleep in your corruption, and " dead in trespasses and sins,"
they entered heaven with their prayers ; and became fervent, im-
portunate, supphants before the throne of mercy for the prolonga-
tion of your lives. The uplifted arm of vengeance has, perhaps in
this manner, been stayed ; and the shaft of death been stopped on
the bow-string. Had the day of your doom not been postponed;
where would you have been now ? Had you been called to a dy-
ing bed, during the past year ; what would have been your reflec-
tions on the life which you had led ? What your feelings, while
you stood on the verge of eternity ? What your expectations of
a reception beyond the grave ? Had you been summoned to
the Judgment ; what must have been your account ? Had the
sentence of retribution been pronounced on you ; what would
have been your allotment ? Is there not the most dreadful reason
to believe, that this world would have been most unhappily ex-
changed by you for another ?
But the voice of intercession itself must one day fail, and fail to
you. The friends, who have so kindly besought for you the di-
vine mercy, will soon close their eyes in dust ; and go to receive
the reward of their piety. You will then be left behind. Should
they live ; like Noah, Daniel, and Job, in the case specified by the
Prophet Ezekiel, they may be able to " deliver only their own
souls." For you God may hear their cries no more. Should
tJiei/ live ; you may die ; may be " cut down as cumberers of the
ground, and cast out of the vineyard." Should this be your lot
during the year which is begun ; what, in your own view, will be
your probable reception in the future world ? Should it be found-
ed on what you have already done ; do you believe it could be
happy ? Would you be willing, were the decision left to your-
selves, to be " rewarded according to the deeds," which you have
" done in the body ?"
Many youths of your own age, many more still younger than
you, and some of them numbered among your companions and
friends, have during the past year gone down to the land of si-
lence ; finished their probation ; and entered upon the " recom-
pense of reward." What has become of them ? Have not some
SER. XVIII.] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 269
of them been cut off" in the midst of their sins ? Have they not in
all probability met that Saviour, as their Judge, whom they dis-
believed, denied, and contemned, to the last 1 Has their retribu-
tion, in your view, been probably of such a nature that you would
be willing to make it your own ? Was their conduct here such,
upon the whole, that without apprehension, without trembling,
you now dare to follow them in your thoughts to their present
habitation? If they, if any of them, have been cut off" in the
midst of their sins, during the past year ; where is your safety,
during that which is now begun ?
Among the sins, which may contribute largely to your reproba-
tion, and may peculiarly provoke God to destroy you in the midst
of your days, your procrastination is probably not the least. Few
things are more provoking, or less cheerfully forgiven, by man-
kind to their fellow men, than Procrastination. A fraudulent
debtor is scarcely regarded by his creditor with stronger feelings
of censure, and rarely with more contempt or hatred, than he, who
is continually resolving, and promising, and yet never pays. The
workman, who gives you the promise, or the encouragement, of
doing a piece of service for you, and from time to time post-
pones the performance, while he still continues to promise and
encourage, soon becomes an object of absolute loathing. A
child, who, when reproved, and punished, for his frowardness, or
treated perhaps with indulgence and tenderness, from the fond
hope, that he may amend, engages from time to time, but never
begins, to reform his life, becomes an inexpressible weariness to
his father, and an, insupportable " heaviness to his mother." All
these characters you unite in one ; and, like them all, postpone
your duty, your repentance, and your reformation, to a future
time. These things you have postponed, from time to time,
through hfe. The past year, given to you for the very purpose of
bringing you to repentance and reformation, and thus conducting
you to endless life, has rolled all its days and nights over your
heads, and seen all these invaluable purposes unaccomplished.
What a dark and melancholy chapter must that be, in the his-
tory of an immortal being, which, through the best ye^r of his
Vol. II. .35
270 A SERMON [SER. XVIII.
probation, records not a single effort to gain the blessings of im-
mortality ? What an afflicting story must that be concerning
such a being, which is made up of impiety, rebellion, ingratitude,
unbelief, impenitence, evil thoughts, evil designs, evil conversa-
tion, and evil conduct? What a dreadful blank must that vol-
ume of life be, in which there is found not " one good thing to-
wards the Lord God of Israel ;" which records no service done
for God ; no voluntary beneficence to mankind ; not a solitary
attempt to oppose sin ; not a single exercise of gratitude, or faith,
towards the Redeemer? With what emotions will you see this
volume opened, and yourselves about to be "judged out of the
things, which are written" on its pages ? How guilty, how deplo-
rable, how pernicious, will your procrastination then appear;
and how will your hearts die within you, to find it all perfectly
known, and perfectly abhorred, by your Judge ?
But is there not the most afflicting reason to fear, that the
whole year has passed by you, without witnessing even a single
attempt to renounce your sins, and turn to God ? Are you not
now conscious, that not even one solitary prayer has ascended
from your lips for the forgiveness of your sins, and the sanctifica-
tion of your souls ; that God has not been even asked to remem-
ber you with mercy ; that not a single wish has started up in your
minds for immortal life ? What a melancholy year must this then
be, to be remembered by you beyond the grave ?
With all these solemn reflections before your eyes, let me in the
5th place, exhort you most seriously to consider in what man-
ner the present year ought to be employed. ,i
The present year may, without any improbability, be your last;
and, if not, it may be the last of your accepted time. Should
you survive it ; as most of you probably will ; God may say of
you, if another year should find you still hardening your hearts,
and postponing your repentance, as he said of such as you are,
by the mouth of the Prophet. " What could have been done
more to my vineyard, that I have not done in it? Wherefore,
when 1 looked, that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth
wild grapes ? And now go to ; I will tell you what I will do to
hER. XVIIL] FOR THE NEW YEAR. 27 1
my vineyard. I will take away the hedge thereof, and it shall be
eaten up ; and break down the wall thereof, and it shall be trod-
den down. And I will lay it waste : it shall not be pruned, nor
digged ; but there shall come up briers and thorns : I will also
command the clouds, that they rain no rain upon it." These
things were " written for your admonition." They are indeed
awful things : and, however stouthearted, however far from right-
eousness you may be, they ought to force you not merely to
hearken, but to tremble. How dreadful would be your situation,
should God execute them upon you ?
Fasten your eyes, then, upon this year, as to you the golden
season of life. Feel the uncertainty of living to another. Trem-
ble, lest another, if it should arrive, should find you given over to
hardness of heart. Awake out of the lethargy, by which you
have heen so long benumbed. Say no longer " A little more
sleep, a little more slumber, a little more folding of the hands to
sleep." Mark the progress of your past conduct ? What has it
produced ? Hardness of heart, blindness of mind, and guiltiness
of life. What will it hereafter produce ? The same blindness,
the same hardness, the same guilt. In what will it end ? In ev-
erlasting " lamentation, mourning, and woe."
Prize then the present year, as of value literally inestimable.
Enter upon it with solemn resolutions, formed with an affecting
remembrance that God is a witness of them, to consecrate it to
his service, your own duty, and the attainment of life eternal.
You are now living. There is now hope concerning you. God
IS now waiting to be gracious. Pardon is still proffered. Christ
with infinite tenderness still invites you to repent, and be saved.
How delightful to a benevolent mind is even the thought, how
much more delightful the hope, that, induced by these conside-
rations, or by any considerations, some of those, who are now be-
fore me, will, during the present year, enter the way to heaven ;
that some, who never uttered a prayer, will have it truly said of
them " Behold they pray !" How charming an object to the eye
of compassion, to see the Bible, hitherto left on the shelf, unread
and forgotten, seriously and daily opened, to find the words of
272 A SERMON FOR THE NEW YEAR. [SER. XVIII
eternal life? Who, although an obstinate sinner himself, can fail,
from natural tenderness only, to rejoice in the thought, that that
sacred Book will solemnize, enlighten, and allure, even a little
number of those, to whom it has hitherto spoken in vain? What
a glorious prospect must it be in the view of Christians, to see the
kinydom of heaven enlarged from this congregation ? Realize
with me, for a moment, the transporting nature of this mighty
change. In the place of stupidity, unbelief, and irreligion, be-
hold a sober mind ; a sweet, pure, and heavenly conversation ; a
sanctified Sabbath; and a Sanctuary solemnized, warmed, and
hallowed, with devotion. The miserable sinners of this assembly,
so long lost in the sleep of death, awake, stand on their feet, and
become living children of God. Here Gou is feared, loved, and
glorified ; the Redeemer is trusted, honoured, and blessed ; and
his Church, no longer a wilderness, blossoms and smiles as the
garden of God. Must not those ministering spirits, who are
"sent forth to minister to them that are heirs of salvation," de-
light, peculiarly, to minister here ? Nay, must not these very walls
rejoice to see immortal minds, in the morning of life, here dedi-
cated to God in the eternal covenant, and mercifully taken into
the arms of the Saviour ? Hasten, O hasten, ye happy days,
when a divine intercourse between this Seat of Learning and the
World of Life shall be gloriously enlarged ; when, not from the
deserted Bethel of Judea, but from this house of God, the Lad-
der, seen by Jacob, shall ascend to heaven ; the prayers of every
worshipper daily rise to that benevolent world ; and Angels, and
Blessings, daily descend. Fly, thou happy period, when the pro-
phetic eye, with a rapturous anticipation, shall behold all those,
who here assemble for the worship of God, finally and forever
assembled in the glorious worship of heaven, and the supreme
enjoyment of the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour.
i
SERMON XIX.
LONG LIFE NOT DESIRABLE.
Job vii. 16.
/ would not live alway.
This Chapter is a most solemn and affecting account of the
afflictions, which Job had experienced ; and of his own sense of
his sufferings. From himself he makes a natural and almost ne-
cessary transition to mankind at large ; and utters a variety of
just but melancholy observations on the frailty, vanity and dis-
tresses, of human life. Full of this subject, he expostulates with
God concerning the httleness and insignificance of man ; and
enquires with wonder, and perhaps with impatience, concerning
the regard, which God has been pleased to render to hira ; a be-
ing seemingly, and really, undeserving of his attention or remem-
brance. All these reflections he concludes with a humble con-
fession of his sins ; a humble prayer for forgiveness ; and a new,
and most affecting declaration of the momentary duration of his
life, and of the suddenness of his departure into the eternal
world.
Among the many declarations, contained in this peculiar pas-
sage of Scripture, the text is, perhaps, singular : " I would not
live alway." The Hebrew word, here rendered alway, is render-
ed variously ; denoting sometimes eternity, and sometimes other
long periods; particularly the longest period, of which any thing
is capable. It might, therefore, be paraphrased here, " 1 would
not live the whole of that period, of which my life according to
the usual course of human affairs is capable."" In other vvords,
" Very long life is not desirable to me in the present world."
274 LONG LIFE [SER. XIX.
To this choice, Job was not improbably brought in a greater
or less degree by his numerous distresses. Men are apt to love
life, even under great sufferings ; and much more, when in pos-
session of what they deem valuable enjoyments. Had Job's
prosperity continued unbroken ; it is highly probable, that he
would have been desirous of living to the utmost of human desti-
ny ; at least, that he would have felt less willing to part with life.
Yet the determination, made by him in this passage, is unquali-
fied ; and, as it is expressed and most naturally understood, may
be justly regarded as respecting human life at large, whether
prosperous or afflicted. In this manner I shall consider it ; and
shall in this discourse regard Job as choosing, although convinced
of the truth and justness of the declaration by adversity, to ex-
tend it to all human circumstances ; and as pronouncing the
choice of a life bounded by moderate limits, to be wise and just
in the best, as well as in the worst, condition. A declaration
made by a wise and good man, demands, when he has had suffi-
cient opportunities, and has exercised sufficient attention, to
judge well of the subject in question, a respectful regard and
careful investigation ; when made in the Scriptures of truth, it
requires ready and entire belief, however it may contradict our
established opinions. Even in this case, however, as well as in
the other, it cannot but be useful to explain the nature of the
subject ; and see how far the state of things, with which we are
acquainted, will elucidate or prove the doctrine asserted. Let
us, then, examine how far the nature of the subject will furnish
sufficient reason to justify this conclusion.
1st. Job, so far as a man can be, was a competent Judge.
He abounded in the good things of this life ; and, from the ac-
tual possession of them, knew better than most other men their
real value.
He was head of his countrymen ; " the greatest of all the men
in the land of Uz," and in the neighbouring regions, called, in
conjunction with that land, " The East."
He had a prosperous, and, it would seem, a dutiful and pious
family.
SER. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. 275
He had excellent friends ,■ men of great wisdom ; sensible of
his worth ; and attached to him by the strongest ties of good will.
He was a man of distinguished piety ; and piety is the spirit,
which, " rejoicing in the truth," conducts us of course to just con-
clusions. Besides, it mitigates all the sorrows of life ; enhances
all its comforts ; and yields many blessings, to which persons
destitute of piety are strangers.
He possessed uncommon wisdom^ and was thus able to discern
with peculiar clearness, and certainty, the true nature of such
things, as became objects of his contemplation.
He enjoyed, also, in an eminent degree the favour of God ; and
was conscious of this invaluable possession.
Finally, He had enjoyed all these blessings without interrup-
tion through a period of life, far longer than now falls to the lot
of man ; and had thus the amplest opportunity for forming a just
determination.
Where can we find a more competent judge ?
2dly. Our own Experience furnishes strong reasons to con-
clude, that the decision of Job was just.
This truth will be evident from the following considerations.
First. The world is full of Temptations.
These are found in every place, and by every person. The
toy and the rattle lay hold on the child in the same manner, as
the hope of distinction and the prospect of pleasure, on the
youth. Power, office, and fame, corrupt the man of middle age :
while riches fascinate the hoary-headed possessor.
These temptations are most extensively presented to us by our-
selves. Our passions and appetites are ever on the search for
their respective gratifications. In these, they declare, lies the
only good, which merits our attention. Weakly we listen to the
declaration, and foolishly submit to have the eyes of our under-
standing hoodwinked ; and thus hasten blindfold after the dar-
ling objects; while Conscience and Reve!i!r:<>n in vfiin recall us
from the pursuit. When we have obtained and enjoyed them,
we wonder that they furnish no higher good ; and then listen
again to the same seducers, as if we had never been deceived.
i
276 LONG LIFE [SER. XIX.
All around us eagerly unite in renfdering- the seduction effectual.
The young, the ga}', the splendid, declare with persuasive elo-
quence, that the good destined for man, is certainlj' and only
found in pomp and pleasure. The ambitious proclaim, that it
lies in reputation, place, and power. The industrious and frugal
assure us, that nothing but solid wealth can yield the envied
boon ; and that all things else are toys and gewgaws. The In-
fidel asserts, that no real good consists with the dread of an here-
after. The Atheist, still wiser, laughs at them all ; and announ-
ce;-!, that himself alone has found the coveted object in the dis-
belief of a God.
With the living heiyigs, hy which we arc encompassed^ all others
conspire. The bounties f>f Providence, good in themselves, and
glorious proofs of goodness in their Author, become, under the
influence of our appetites, solicitations to gluttony, and drunken-
ness. Abundance begets sloth, pride, self-confidence, and for-
getfulness of God. Indigence awakens fretfulness, murmuring,
ingratitude, fraud, theft, and profaneness. Power prompts to
arrogance, oppression, a hard heart, iniquitous claims on others,
and an universal corruption of ourselves. Ambition produces a
miserable thirst for applause, a servile dependence on popular fa-
vour, a deplorable venality of mind, a fatal habit of sacrificing
conscience to the hope of preferment, and a fatal idolatry to the
world. Science engrosses the heart ; and steals it away from
God. Taste and refinement enervate independence, reason, and
conscience ; and offer them up as victims to the pleasures of fan-
cy, or the dictates of fashion. Thus, wherever we turn, and
whatever we converse with ; we turn from allurement to allure-
ment, and converse almost only with temptations. In a world,
replete with such dangers, it cannot be desirable " to live alway."
Secondly. The world, is full of Sin.
This is a calamity, from which not an individual is exempted.
Ourselves, our dearest relations, our most beloved friends, to-
gether with all around us, are involved in the general evil. Nor
are we merely sinful ; but exceedingly sinful. Our hearts are ex-
hibited by Christ as a treasury of sin ; whence evil things only
SER. XIX.J NOT DESIRABLE. 277
are continually brought out, A propensity to evil only, unive^""
sal, and unresisted, is the predominating character of every child
of Adam. Every one is begotten and born in his likeness ; in the
character of apostacy, revolt, and rebellion. Hence our " imag-
ination is full of evil." A leprosy has seized the soul, and cor-
rupted its whole constitution ; to which every physician, beside
Christ, attempts in vain the application of a cure.
Accordingly we perpetrate iniquity every day ; conceive it in
our hearts ; utter it with our mouths ; and finish it with our hand.
In the morning we rise with the unhappy purpose : to complete
it we toil through the day ; and, when we close our eyes at night,
reluctantly leave it unaccomplished.
In this manner we commit numberless acts of impiety, iniquity,
and rebellion. Day by day the mass is heaped up ; the burden
rendered more and more insupportable ; and the preparation for
our account made more and more dreadful. Of course, " a fear-
ful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation to devour us,"
is, unless we are benumbed with stupidity, and bewildered with
frenzy, made more and more the only view which we can form of
our future being ; the only prospect of endless reward.
No calamity can be equal to this. Our minds are deformed ;
our understanding perverted ; our hearts polluted ; and ourselves
debased below the proper level of Intelligent beings. Our lives,
also, are stained with guilt ; and rendered odious and dreadful.
Whenever we retire into ourselves ; whenever we solemnly ex-
plore the recesses of the mind ; whenever we cast a just and mel-
ancholy survey, (for melancholy it cannot fail to be,) over the per-
verse and miserable wanderings of our feet through the journey of
life ; we are compelled to sit in judgment on ourselves, to antici-
pate by the distressing decision of our consciences, the sentence
of filial reprobation ; and to declare, that in this character we
can never see life, but are condemned already.
On the contrary, if with happier views and determinations, we
have renounced our enmity against God ; if we have laid aside
the weapons of our warfare ; if moral darkness has begun to
disappear, and holiness to dawn in our minds ; if we have closed
Vol. II. 36
278 LONG LIFE [SER. XIX
with Christ oii his own terms, and can dimly discover and hope-
fully read our names inscribed " in the Lamb's book of hfe ;'' if
the Spirit of Grace with a benign and eternal influence has de-
scended, as the showers of heaven, on our hearts; if our souls
have begun to be expanded, ennobled, and refined, with love to
God and love to man ; our state has, indeed, been rendered in-
estimably more desirable. Yet it is still far from being secured
against the intrusion of this dreadful evil. " Oh wretched man,
that I am ! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?"
is the natural and necessary exclamation of the best Christian
who has ever lived ; springing spontaneously from a heart, deeply
affected with a sense of his sins, and flowing instinctively from
his hps. The suffering is too great to be neglected, or concealed.
It returns too often to be forgotten, or to be contemplated with-
out terror and anguish. A languor of mind, strongly resembling
the languor of disease, renders every effort to act and to resist, to
guard or to overcome, feeble, painful, and discouraging. The
struggles really made, are too often the struggles of a sick man :
and the soul, distressed on the one hand with a knowledge that
they are necessary, and on the other with a conviction of the ter-
rifying probability that they will be ineffectual, frequently sinks in
the conflict ; and in a great measure ceases to strive, because it
feels assured that it will strive in vain. Its views of the Divine
promises, which convey grace and strength, are dim and distant :
its faith is perplexed by doubt, and enfeebled by fear ; its hold on
hope, and heaven, and God, in a great measure loosened, its
strength " a bruised reed," demanding the careful support of an
Almighty hand, to prevent it from being broken off*; and its light
that of " the dimly burning flax," at times apparently extinguish-
ed, and to the eye of hope itself scarcely capable of continuing
to shine.
There are indeed brighter and better seasons ; and to some of
those, who are sanctified, they frequently return ; but the best
and happiest are often obliged to go mourning all the day. Sin
is a poison, which spreads through all the veins and all the facul-
ties. It becomes a part of the constitution of every fibre. Un-
!'■'
:»ER. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. 279
ceasing applications, directed with the highest skill, and adopted
with the greatest exactness and care, repeated every day and con-
tinued through life; are at the utmost barely sufficient to increase
the tendency towards returning health, and to secure the unhappy
patient from final dissolution.
To all these evils is inseparably annexed a continual sense
of the anger of God. Nothing but a paralytic torpor can pre-
vent any man from believing, and feeling, that He, before whom
"the heavens are unclean" and whose "angels are charged
with folly," must regard, as immensely " more abominable and
filthy, man, who drinketh iniqmty like water." Every good
man feels this distress of course ; and says instinctively, " O
Lord God of my salvation ! I have cried day and night be-
fore thee. Let my prayer come before thee : incline thine ear
unto my cry. For my soul is full of troubles ; and my life draw-
eth nigh unto the grave. I am counted with them that go down
into the pit : I am as a man, that hath no strength ; free among
the dead, like the slain, that lie in the grave, whom thou remem-
berest no more, and they are cut off from thy hand. Thou hast
laid me in the lowest pit, in darkness, and in the deeps. *Thy
wrath lieth hard upon me, and thou hast afflicted me with all
thy waves."
Every bad man, who is insensible to this incomprehensible ca-
lamity, is merely benumbed like the half-frozen wretch ; who, on
the point of perishing, resolves to fall asleep, and can by no mo-
tives be induced to an effort to preserve himself from sleeping ;
although the very moment he closes his eyes, he closes them in
death. So great and dreadful an evil is the anger of God, that,
beside the sin, which provokes it, nothing, in comparison with it
ought to be called an evil.
3dly. It is a world of Enemies.
These enemies are found in every place and among persons of
every description ; among strangers and neighbours ; in the list
of those who have been our friends ; and not unfrequently even
in our own households. They exist at all times even when as
much as possible we live in peace with all men. When we arc
280 LONG LIFE [SER. XIX.
for peace, others will be for war, Childliood, Youth, Manhood,
and Old Age are all sufferers by their attacks. In the day of
prosperity they envy our blessings : in the day of sorrow they
find a malignant pleasure in our distresses. In the week they la-
bour to frustrate our plans, and to prevent the success of our ef-
forts : on the Sabbath, they question the truth of our Bible, laugh
at our Religion, insult our worship, and disturb our devotion.
They attack us with every weapon ; and assail us in every vul-
nerable part of our well-being. If they do not beat and wound
us ; they cheat us out of our property ; stain our reputation ;
hale us before the bar of justice in causeless litigation ; alienate
from us our beloved friends ; frustrate our lawful plans of busi-
ness ; rob us of public and private confidence and challenge us
to the field of death. Beyond this they lie in wait for our souls,
seduce us to the belief of ruinous errors ; obliterate from our
minds tenderness of conscience, and apprehensiveness of guilt
and danger ; varnish crimes, and cover them with beautiful col-
ours ; entice us to sin ; take us by the hand, and lead us down
to the chambers of death ; and murder our souls throughout
ete^'.ity.
At the same time, they are enemies always active and always
distressing. From some or other of them we are ever to ex-
pect attempts on our welfare ; and are obliged to feel ourselves
never safe.
4thly. This worldis filed with innumerable other evils.
Want, hunger, thirst, cold, toil, weariness, anxiety, disappoint-
ment, despondency, disease, and death, hedge the path of man-
kind ; and all of them attack many, and some of them all, men.
The best health is liable to be lost by disease ; and the most se-
cure property by a flaw in a title, by the bankruptcy of others,
by accident, by the tempest, or by the conflagration. The best
laid schemes are frequently frustrated by unexpected contingen-
cies ; and by the ignorance, sloth, and inattention, of those, to
whom the execution of them is committed. A voyage is render-
ed fruitless, or ruinous, by the unskillfulness of the pilot, or the
drunkenness of the master, or of the seamen ; by the starting of
>-i:K. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. og [
a plank, or the stroke of a wave. Despondency breaks our ef-
forts ; disease enervates our bodies ; and delirium destroys our
reason. Pain excruciates, the asthma enfeebles, the consump-
tion with a lingering death destroys, the man. Thus the world
becomes literally a valley of tears.
A virtuous mind is also, in a s(;nse unceasingly, wounded by
the sins of others. The husband is not unfrequently obliged to
behold his wife, the partner of his bosom, and the most intimate
of all his connections, alienated from God and from religion ; a
votary to show and amusement ; wasting her life on trifles ; and
advancing to eternity without a hope. The wife is compelled to
see her husband profane, false, faithless, a cheat, a gambler, a drun-
kard, and not unfrequently a duellist bathing his murderous hands
in the blood of his friend. The child is compelled to behold the
parent, who gave him birth, and to whom the only instinctive
regard is reverence and love, deformed by vice, and degraded
by infamy. The parent is often pierced with agony by the sight
of a graceless child, debased by falsehood, undutifulness, un-
kindness, and impiety ; the victim of seduction ; a martyr to evil
companions, and evil communications ; deaf to reproof and ad-
monition, to conscience and to God ; hopelessly descending in
the broad and crooked road 5 and hastening, in spite of his pray-
ers and tears, to the regions of endless sin and final perdition.
The friend is agonized by violated faith, treacherous professions,
broken vows, and black ingratitude. The Christian, yearning
with benevolence over a world in ruins, is pierced with anguish
to see around him a mere place of graves ; an immense church-
yard, filled with living corruption and moving death ; where spir-
itual life, the beginning of life eternal, is looked for, extensively,
by his wearied, longing, lingering eye in vain ; where the Son of
God calls with infinite tenderness and concern, but no Lazarus
comes forth ; where Mercy wanders, and searches, and pries, to
find in the endless train of walking corpses a remaining principle
of life ; but beholds throughout a great part of the habitable
world nothing but despair, desolation and death. God to an
immense extent is forgotten, as if the world had been made by
282 LONG LIFE [SER. XIX.
another Creator, as if suns arose, rain descended, and seasons
rolled around their circuit, under the control of another Ruler -,'
and as if man derived his life, his breath, and all his blessings,
from some other Benefactor. To wealth, to pride, to pleasure,
mankind continually say, " Deliver us ; for ye are our Gods,"
Christ is rejected, despised, and trampled under foot -, as if some
" other name" beside his were " given under heaven whereby
men must be saved ; as if some other lawgiver had prescribed
the rules of human worship, and obedience ; as if some other
Saviour had disclosed the way to endless life ; as if some other
being had become a propitiation for the sins of men ; and as if
some other Advocate before the throne of infinite justice were
effectually pleading for the divine forbearance, and the final ac-
ceptance of sinners. Heaven is shunned, as if it were the final
residence of sin and suffering ; and hell sought with eagerness
and perseverance, as if the river of life flowed from its desolate
caverns, and the tree of life sprang from its parched soil. Who,
from the conduct of the great body of the human race, would
imagine that they were creatures formed by Jehovah ; preserv-
ed, sustained, and universally blessed, by the Infinite hand ; en-
dued with minds destined to the contemplation, love and enjoy-
ment of eternal beauty, excellence, and glory ; and to an ever-
lasting progress in loveliness and virtue ?
A mind really benevolent is unavoidably distressed by the sight
of prevailing degeneracy ; the decline of those, about whom it
has entertained hopes; the deplorable choice made by man, of
objects in which he hopes to find good ; the sordid spirit, with
which he pursues dross and dirt, as if they were to enrich his
mind ; his childish expectations of finding happiness in bubbles,
and of gaining distinction from the possession of straws and
feathers ; the debasement of his understanding, the prostitution
of his energy, and the wanton, causeless sacrifice of his immor-
tal well-being. A world in sin is to a being, truly rational, a
forlorn and dreadful object ; a lazar-house of disease and corrup-
tion -, a dungeon of delirium and death.
SER. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. 283
5thly. A longer continuance of life would longer deprive good
■nnn of a better life.
So long as good men continue in this world, they are subjec-
ted, in a greater or less degree, to all the evils necessarily inci-
dent to an imperfect nature, and an imperfect residence. Their
wisest designs, firmest resolutions, and most vigorous efforts, will
be at least partially blasted. Temptations will spring up where
they are unforeseen ; sins will creep in through avenues, where
they were unexpected ; and sorrow, their never faihng compan-
ion, following hard behind them, will enter where they enter,
and dwell where they reside. The best life presents to the re-
trospective eye a melancholy picture, on which it gazes with re-
probation, and regret. As the mind advances in the progress of
sanctification ; its views of sin, and duty, become continually
more clear, just, and scriptural. As the films are thus gradu-
ally removed from the mental eye ; it discerns more and more per-
fectly the reality, the number, and the greatness, of its offences :
and perceives the difference between what it is, and what it
4)ught to be, continually, and increasingly to be greater than it
originally mistrusted. Hence its estimate of its own character
is less and less favourable, and more and more humiliating, and
painful. \
When the good man casts his eyes around him, he finds little
to relieve his wearied mind, and wanders ovef this world in
search of brighter objects in vain. Is he imperfectly sanctified ?
So are others. Is he a mourner in Zion ? Others find abund-
ant cause for similar lamentation. Is the presence of God, are
the blessings of the Spirit of Grace, withholden from him ? Does
he search with an anxious and doubtful eye for supporting evi-
dence of divine love to his soul ? Does the peace, which Christ
gave his disciples, instead of being an inmate, become only a
visitor, in his bosom ? Does the joy ^ which no stranger meddles
withal, descend, like scanty showers in a season of drought ? All,
even the best, around him feel the same evils ; and are ready to
unite with him in all his complaints.
284 LONG LIFE [SER. XIX.
But there is a world, where these evils are never found ; a
world, to which his own path has been steadily pointed ; a world
in which, a stranger here, he has long expected to find his final
home. In that world he knows, that the presence of God is un-
clouded ; his blessing never withholden ; his smile never with-
drawn. There temptation and sin are shut out ; and all the
foundations of self-reproach, disturbance of mind, repentance,
and sorrow, forever excluded. There God is loved, trusted, and
obeyed, as his glorious excellence and perfect conduct, reasona-
bly demand, with all the heart. There no friends pierce each
others hearts with degeneracy ; no eye drops a tear over falling
or backsliding virtue ; no bosom is torn with anxiety concerning
its own future wanderings from the path of rectitude. " The
way of holiness" is there indeed " a high way ;" and none are so
unhappy, as to " err therein." Towards that world the good
man cannot fail often to turn his thoughts ; and to institute a
comparison between the happy state of its inhabitants, and the
imperfect, erring, suffering condition of those, who dwell below.
In his pilgrimage through the scorching sands and houseless
wilds of this Arabian waste, he cannot fail in the midst of his
hunger and thirst, his weariness, his solitude and danger, to turn
a longing wish towards the region, where " there is enough and
to spare," of the bread of life, and where " fountains of living wa-
ters" flow forever.
A longer life is to him a longer exile from his Father's house,
and the glorious blessings which it contains ; from the Redeem-
er, who died for him ; from " the innumerable company of An-
gels," to whom he is intimately allied ; and from " the church of
the first born," who are to be his brethren and friends forever.
Nor would a longer continuance of life be a blessing to im-
penitent sinners ; to those, I mean, who at the end of the pres-
ent age of man remain impenitent. He, who has lived seventy
years in sin, has in almost every instance outhved the hopes of
repentance. A convert at the age of threescore and ten may
perhaps be found ; but he is almost a prodigy. Every sinner in
advanced age holds out to the eye of observation, not only the
SER. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. 285
painful picture of long continued rebellion, and deep declension,
but also the melancholy image of hopeless obduracy. He has
so long walked in " the broad and crooked road," that without
a miracle he can scarcely find his way back to life.
But every child of Adam is to be "judged, and rewarded, ac-
cording to the deeds done in the body." To live, therefore, only
to accumulate sin, and prepare for heavier condemnation, the
only real consequence to the gray-haired impenitent of living
beyond the established date of man, would to almost every hu-
man being be so far from being desirable, that it would be merely
the means of increasing misery throughout eternity. Who would
ask to have his life lengthened, with this dreadful prospect be-
fore him ?
6thly. A long life would take away from mankind the chief
Motives to Repentance and Reformation.
Were human life to be greatly extended ; it is difficult to con-
ceive of any motives, which could be successfully urged, to awa-
ken in sinners a conviction of the necessity of repentance, the
danger of delay, and the importance of speedily seeking God,
In men, secure of a long protracted existence in this world,
what avenue could be found for efficacious access to their hearts ?
They might be informed, perhaps, that holiness is beautiful and
lovely in itself; and that the sanctified mind enjoys, of course,
a glorious reward in the exercise of its own amiable affections,
and finds sufficient delight, spontaneously arising from the con-
sciousness of performing praiseworthy actions. But how could
those know what was meant by the beauty and loveliness of vir-
tue, who knew not what virtue itself was ? The very nature of
this celestial attribute can be known only by experience. No
state, no exercise, of the human heart can be so described, as.
to be efficaciously understood. We may, indeed, by contempla-
tion conceive, or by description be informed, what is meant by
sorrow or joy, by hope or fear, by love or hatred, loosely and,
generally ; but the sensation in such a case can never be thor-
oughly understood, until it is felt. The practical nature of eve-
ry thing, which is practical, is incapable of being learned, un-
VoL. II. -37
286 LONG LIFE [SER. XIX,
less when experienced by ourselves. Thus Evangelical love to
God and mankind must be exercised, in order to be realized.
But this love is the sum of virtue. None therefore, who are
not virtuous, can know what virtue is ; and none, but they, can
discern its amiableness and beauty. The rewards of virtue, also,
are furnished only by the exercise of virtue ; and, where it is not
exercised, cannot be found. Even to understand them in any
valuable degree it is absolutely necessary, that we should pre-
viously become virtuous.
To address, then, these motives to sinners, in order to per-
suade them to become holy, would be to address to them that,
which they do not know, and cannot feel ; or in other words that,
which to them is literally nothing. To this hopeless employment
the philosophers of Greece, and Rome^ addicted themselves with
great ingenuity and eloquence : but they spoke to deaf ears,
and immovable hearts ; and among all who listened to their fine
sentiments and elegant diction, with admiration and applause,
there is not the least reason to believe, that they reformed even;
a single individual.
In the same fruitless manner would a preacher display to the
understanding of sinners the glory, virtue, and happiness, of
heaven. Holiness, the well spring of all this happiness and glo-
ry, the sinner would neither understand nor feel. A cold assent,
that such a place, as heaven is asserted to be in the Scriptures, may
be a happy place, would be all which his mind would really give.
A heartfelt conviction of the necessity of holiness to real and en-
during good, he would still be incapable of feeling ; but without
such a conviction no desire could be excited in his mind, no per-
suasion operate, no effort exist. A Mohammedan paradise, if
he could be assured of inhabiting it beyond the grave, might in-
deed rouse his wishes, and his labours ; but the joys of heav-
en would be proclaimed to an assembly of sinners with much the
same hope of success, as to the inhabitants of the tomb.
Danger, suffering, and death, the terror of being miserable be-
yond the grave, and the hope of escaping that misery, are the
only things, which ever seriously affect a sinning, guilty mind ,
SER. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. 287
and are therefore the only things, which, in ordinary eases, are
efficaciously preached to minds of this character. " Knowing
the terrors of the Lord," says St. Paul, " we persuade men •,"
and only when knowing these terrors are men usually persua-
ded.
But how could these motives be addressed with effect, or even
with hope, to men, secure of life for a thousand years ? To the
human eye this period would seem a kind of eternity. Death
and judgment, heaven and hell, removed beyond this period,
would be removed beyond the utmost verg€ of care and thought;
and recede far from all settled belief, if not from the doubtful as-
sent of fear and hope. Future evil at such a distance would be
no longer dreaded ; future good no longer desired. Death itself,
though certain and undeniable, would at such a distance cease
to alarm, or even to solemnize ; and would be regarded as a bug-
bear ; the object only of contempt and ridicule. No argument
could be founded on it, or enforced by it, which could be brought
home to the heart ; no motive derived from it, to impress the im-
portance of salvation, or the reality of never ending being. To
all inducements to consideration on these subjects, presented to
human beings in such a situation, the answer would be short and
final : " Where is the promise of his coming ? for, since the fath-
ers fell asleep, all things continue as they were at the beginning of
the creation,"
This single fact v^^ould change essentially the whole system of
Providence, and in some respects the whole character of man.
A future state either of rewards or punishments would be trium-
phantly denied; and all, who believed it, placed on the same level
with the advocates for the warnings of the deathwatch, and the
existence of witchcraft. " Death an eternal sleep" would be en-
graved on the gate posts of every churchyard ; and become the
creed of every tongue. To the wanderings of human opinion
there would be neither check, nor end. Whatever philosophical
theory could devise ; whatever sin could rehsh ; whatever willing
credulity could swallow ; would be proudly taught, and eagerly
believed. Animal enjoyment would be the amount of all ae-
288 LONG LIFE [8ER. XIX-
knowledged human good, and the end of every human effort.
The favourite maxim by which it is now governed, would, how-
ever, be reversed. It would not be as now, " Let us eat and
drink for to-morrow we die ;" for death would be disregarded,
and forgotten : but, " Let us eat and drink ; for to-morrow shall
be as this day, and much more abundant."
Should any person question the correctness of this representa-
tion ; I am furnished with unanswerable proof of its truth. Noah
preached for one hundred and twenty years to audiences in this
very condition. 1 need not tell you, that he preached in vain ;
so in absolutely vain, that he made not a single convert to truth
and righteousness.
7thly. Life^ greatly extended^ woidd be undesirable to man,
because it would produce pernicious Consequences to the world
at large.
From the general tendency of human nature, which is thor-
oughly known by the experience of ages, we may easily deter-
mine with sufficient accuracy the real influence, which a long
protraction of life must necessarily have on the general interests
of mankind. No person can doubt, that the extension of life
would, of course, enlarge proportionally all the plans formed by
men for business, or for pleasure. The schemes of accumulating
wealth, of acquiring renown, of amassing power, of compassing
superiority, would all grow with the extension of years. The
design in the mind of every sagacious and enterprising man, in-
stead of being limited by the narrow bounds which now encircle
all human eftbrts, and, like those of the ocean, say to every pur-
pose, " Hitherto shalt thou come and no further ;" would become
a vast outline, to be filled up by the efforts of centuries succee-
ding centuries. The disappointments of one age would be con-
fidently expected to find a balance in the more auspicious events
of another ; defeat would be consoled with the sanguine expec-
tation of a future triumph ; and loss be firmly borne under the
assurance of future gain. No enterprise which did not overstep
the bounds of earth, would be thoftght too great to be formed by
the ardent projector, nor to be executed by the hand of courage.
SER. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. 2S9
patience, and perseverance. The defects, which time might discov-
er, experience would supply. The errors, into which inattention
might be betrayed, caution, improved by succeeding skill, would
correct. Ingenuity, sharpened by long continued application,
emboldened by frequent success, and ardent in the prospect of
vast acquisitions ; would repair every disaster, a.nd remove every
obstacle.
With these advantages, to what a height would rise the la-
bours and acquisitions of man ? During the present, limited pe-
riod of human life, a single individual has often amassed millions.
Could the same protection be afforded him, what would be the
accumulation of the same individual through a thousand years ?
His coffers, like an abyss, would engulf the wealth of empires.
Vast riches always spread around their possessor vast and multi-
plied poverty. With what a desert of want and misery would
he, who had engrossed wealth for centuries, and raised it to the
height of mountains, environ his dwelling ?
Heroes fight alike for glory, and for power. Alexandei\ Caesar,
and Tamerlane^ within a little part of our present life subjugated,
successively, a great proportion of the known world. Had the
lives of these men been extended to the antediluvian length ;
the world must have bowed to their yoke, and trembled to its ut-
most shores, beneath the iron rod of their power. What armies
would they have assembled ? Like that of Gog^ described by the
prophet Ezekiel, they would have " ascended like a storm, and
like a cloud" have " covered the breadth of the earth." What
battles would they have fought, when the millions following their
standards, met in conflict ! W^hat victories would they have
achieved ! How many and how vast regions would they have
drenched in blood, covered with the corpses, and whitened with
the bones of men ! Within ten years a single man, of obscure
origin, reduced one third part of Europe under his feet. Had
his life been extended through a thousand years ; all the human
race would, not improbably, have crouched in iron bondage be-
neath his sceptre ; and all their blessings been wrenched from
tjiem to swell his grandeur, and to gorge his voracious demand
for pleasure.
290 LONG LIFE LSER. XIX.
In the mean time, to what a depth of degeneracy, and pollu-
tion, would mankind sink in sensuality ? Restraint from principle
would be removed by the doctrines of Atheism ; restraint from
fear would vanish before the assurance of living through an im-
mense succession of ages, restraint from shame would expire
amid the general hatred of duty, and the universal encourage-
ment of example. All mankind would, therefore, be let loose to
revel and to riot. From one end of heaven to the other the soul
of man would sink to the level of animal existence ; and hail the
sloth and the swine, as its companions and brethren. A Sodom
would rise in every climate, and in every field ; and " ten right-
eous men" would not be found to save a world.
Of all these awful and debasing things we are furnished with
the most ample proof from unquestionable fact. The Antedilu-
vianS ihn^ lived, and thus acted. " The sons of God," we are
told, " saw the daughters of men, that they were fair ; and they
took them wives, of all whom they chose." Of this loose and
lewd mixture were born " giants, who became mighty men," and
who were in that day " men of renown." As the immediate
consequence it followed, that " God saw, that the wickedness of
man was great, and that every imagination," i. e. every purpose
and design, " of the thoughts of his heart were only evil contin-
ually : so evil, so abandoned, that " it repented the Lord, that he
had made man on the earth, and it grieved him at his heart. The
earth also was corrupt before God ; and the earth was filled with
violence ; and God looked upon the earth ; and, behold, it was
corrupt ; for all flesh had corrupted his way on the earth." Here
is a concise, but strong and finished picture of the entire profliga-
cy of the human race, and their utter abandonment of all prin-
ciple, and all decency. " All flesh had corrupted his way ;" was
lewd, sensual, brutal : " the earth was filled with violence," i. e.
as the word is explained, with vengeance, fraud, rapine, and op-
pression : and those, who were the great, the leaders in this pro-
fligacy, " were giants," fierce, tyrannical, men of oppression and
of blood, and for these very reasons "men of renown." So pol-
luted did the world in a short time become, that " God repented,
.SER. XIX.] NOT DESIRABLE. 291
that he had made man ; and brought upon the world a flood of
waters, whereby the world that then was," except eight persons,
perished. Such was the result of one trial ; such unquestionably
would be the issue of another.
REMARKS.
1 St. From these observations we derive complete proof of the
wisdom of God in limiting human life by its present bounds.
There are few dispensations, so naturally mysterious and per-
plexing, in a world formed by the Author of life and perfection,
as Death. The whole explanation of this strange and melan-
choly event is furnished only by the moral character of man.
We see, in the observations already made, abundant reasons why
he should be removed from the present world ; since his contin-
uance in it would be ruinous to himself, and to his fellow^ftien.
We are also presented by them with abundant reasons why he
should be removed after a short continuance here, rather than af-
ter a longer one ; and why he should be removed in a gloomy
and painful, rather than in a joyful and triumphant, manner.
Death, the last act of Providence towards man in the present
world, is, and ought to be, a solemn testimony of God against
human corruption. Were we universally to go from the world,
as Enoch and Elijah went ; the terror of death would cease ;
for it would be concluded, and with strong probability, that with
all our corruption we were regarded by God with favour, and
destined to a prosperous future being. Were our life extended
to the antediluvian date ; men would universally assume the an-
tediluvian character ; and the world be filled with the antediluvi-
an vice and corruption. Men are noiv, at least, sufficiently sinful ;
sufficiently deaf to the voice of mercy ; sufficiently blind to their
own good ; sufficiently hardened against warning, reproof, and
reformation. Then, the mental eye would be closed in absolute
darkness, and the heart be changed into adamant. No argu-
ment would persuade ; no warning alarm ; no reproof reclaim ;
and no reformation be found.
292 LONG LIFE NOT DESIRABLE. [SER. XIX.
We naturally love life ; and at every period instinctively wish
to live longer. But reason here clearly decides, that it would be
really undesirable to extend our earthly being beyond the present
boundary ; that God in fixing it has manifested his supreme wis-
dom and goodness ; and that the dispensation, though unwel-
come to us, is established in a manner far better than that which
would accord with our wishes.
2dly. We also learn the wisdom, and the necessity of employ-
ing this short life in acquiring a life which is eternal.
Immortality is necessarily the object of earnest desire to every
intelligent, and would be if he could form the thought, to every
percipient, being. It was the actual and glorious lot of our first
parents. It may be the lot of every one of us. A short period,
a limited life, is the only period during which we can obtain it.
This very consideration demands of us the utmost anxiety and
diligence. The death also, which we must all undergo, enfor-
ces strongly with its painful and distressing circumstances this
powerful argument. Like a beacon, lighted up with an eternal
fire on a height visible to all the nations of men, it solemnly warns
us of the evils to which we are exposed, and of which to all the
impenitent it is itself the beginning. We need thus to be warned.
If we are wise, we shall welcome the alarm ; and, beholding the
Sun of life hastening through the heavens, shall " do, while the
day lasts, whatsoever our hand findeth to do with our might ;"
and, to quicken our diligence, shall cast a constant and appre-
hensive eye toward the rapid approach of that night in ichich no
man can work. Instead of wishing to live longer, we shall labour
to live better. Instead of vainly panting for immortal being in a
world of sin and sorrow, where we, together with others, should
only sin and suffer ; we should bend all our efforts, to find it in that
glorious world, where it can be actually found ; and where its
ages roll on in the " fulness of joy, and pleasures forevermore/'
SERMON XX.
THE RICH MAN AND LAZARUS.
Luke xvi. 26.
And besides all this between us and you there is a great gulf
Jixed: so that they which would pass from hence to you, cannot :
neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence.
The design of the parable, from which the text is taken, is to
shew the dangerous influence of wealth and luxury ; and the su-
periority of the most abject poverty, when connected with piety,
to all worldly gratifications. The rich, the proud, and the splen-
did, are designed to be here alarmed and warned ; the poor and
forsaken, to be comforted and encouraged. The parable is also
filled with a great variety of evangelical doctrines ; almost as ma-
ny as it contains words. All these are exhibited in a most dis-
tinct light by the contrast which is studiously maintained between
the several parts of the parable, as well as between the two prin-
cipal characters which are exhibited in it.
It is the design of the present discourse, to consider the con-
trast between the situation of Dives and that of Lazarus ; both in
the present, and in the future, world.
Between the circumstances of these individuals the difference
was immense.
Dives was in this world rich, honourable, and externally happy ;
while Lazarus was poor, despised, and externally wretched. Be-
yond the grave the condition of both was utterly reversed.
I shall consider
L The Circumstances of Dives, in his two different states of
existence.
Vol. II. 38
294 THE RICH MAN [SER. XX,
In this world, Dives was possessed
1st. Of an abundance of earthhj good.
He had great wealth. This doubtless was of the same kind
with the wealth of that country, at the present time ; and con-
sisted, among other things, of lands, houses, cattle, silver, gold,
gems, servants, and apparel. This great, proud, luxurious man
may naturally be supposed to have delighted in walking over his
possessions, and in surveying his lands and houses ; in admiring
the fertility of the one, and the elegance and splendour of the
other. It may be easily believed, that he delighted to see the
number and labours of his servants, and the increase of his prop-
erty by their industry. We cannot doubt that he loved to count
his money, and to calculate his gains. All worldly men do this.
He probably did it with the same pleasure and exultation which
is experienced by others.
2dly. He knew how to enjoy this abundance, according to (he
usual meaning of this phraseology.
He did not amass riches for their own sake, but for the sake of
enjoying them. He was clothed in purple and fine hnen ; at that
time the dress of nobles and princes ; and of them only. Here
softness and splendour were united ; and both contributed to en-
hance and variegate enjoyment. It seems indeed that he did not
deny himself any enjoyments : but meant to live while here, and
to let posterity take care of itself, and futurity bring with it what
it might. He also fared sumptuously : he ate and drank to the
full the richest and most dainty viands ; and these were supplied
to him every day. Thus it appears that his life was a life of uni-
form abundance and enjoyment, and was varied by diversities of
pleasure only.
3dly. He was probably, so far as pertains to human nature in
these circumstances, possessed of entire ease of mind.
There is no reason to believe, that he was at all disturbed by
considerations of futurity or by any anxiety about the present.
Let useat and drink : to morrow shall be as this day and much
more abundant: were probably the maxims by which he regulated
his life and enjoyments. Death seems to have disturbed him little.
SER. XX.] AND LAZARUS. 295
if at alK Eternity we may believe affected him still less. Of
Eternity, tiie Judgment, and the Recompense of reward, he
probably believed nothing. Death by him, was perhaps regar-
ded as an Eternal Sleep ; as it is generally by modern infidels.
His life was plainly that of a mere animal. His death was, there-
fore, naturally believed by him to be that of an animal, also.
It would seem, that he was a Sadducee. His mode of life ac-
cords only with the doctrines of that sect of the Jews. If this be
a just opinion, it is certain, that he believed neither in the exist-
ence of Angel nor Spirit ; neither in a Resurrection, nor in a state
of reward. In the spirit of a modern infidel he boldly denied ev-
ery thing, which pertained to future and endless being, to the
judgment and eternity, to heaven and hell.
At the fears of such poor and pitiful wretches as Lazarus, he
doubtless laughed with many an ingenious jest, and many a cut-
ting sarcasm. Their cowardly apprehensions of a future world,
a world of retribution too, he magnanimously despised ; and tri-
umphed in his own independence of thought, raised above the
superstition of nurses, and bigots, and fanatics, who were held by
their fears in a constant and miserable bondage. His own pas-
sions and appetites, he knew, were all natural, and were doubtless
given only to be gratified. Whatever was natural, was doubtless
lawful ; and whatever was in itself good, was unquestionably de-
signed to be enjoyed. " Let the miserable beings," he may be
imagined to say, " who know no better, tremble, and pray, and
destroy all the comforts of their fives, by the bugbear terrors of
futurity. God made me, if I was made at all, to be happy ; and
he has amply provided me with the means of being so. I shall
not abuse his bounty by refusing to taste and enjoy, nor by trem-
bling to taste, the good which he has given. Certainly the
Creator, if he be a benevolent being, cannot grudge his crea-
tures the enjoyment of the good which he has himself given. The
bounties of his providence were never intended to be lost in self-
denial and fasting. The roses blossom, to be seen and relished.
I will pluck them, ere they wither."
Like other Infidels, both speculative and practical, he could
'2d6 THE RICH MAN [SER. XX.
probably reason learnedly on accountableness, and prove that
man is a machine ; that all his volitions are governed irresistibly
by motives ; that those motives are presented to him vv'ithout his
contrivance, or concurrence ; and, therefore, that all his actions
are necessary and mechanical. Of course, they are neither right
nor wrong, neither good nor evil. It is indeed probable, that at
times he complained, like other such men, of the faults and sins
of his servants ; and that he cursed them for their omissions
of duty, and their trespasses on his property and convenience.
He may also, have followed the customs of the age, and at times
whipped and tortured them, for their crimes, as he himself styled
them. But, whatever was the case with servants, and how-
ever wicked they might be, or however accountable to him ; he
certainly was not accountable to God, nor capable of being a sin-
ner. A saint he never pretended nor wished to be. Upon the
whole, he was satisfied with his allotments in life ; and he pre-
sumed that God, who gave them, would, and must, be satisfied
also.
If men lived beyond the grave, he had concluded, and in his
own view proved, that they must be happy. Otherwise God
must be unjust and malevolent. This, all men denied, as well as
himself: the consequence therefore must be admitted.
Around his board, as around those of others of the same character
and condition, there doubtless swarmed a multitude ; who were buz-
zing in the sunshine of opulence, and feasting on the honey which
it yielded. All these united in approving his arguments, applaud-
ing his ingenuity, and adopting without a question his conclu-
sions. These were all equally necessary and comforting to them,
as to him. None therefore called them in question ; but all uni-
ted to confirm him in the conviction, that his doctrines were cer-
tain, and his arguments unanswerable.
Nor was he probably less persuasive on other favourite topics
of Infidelity. The want of chastity he could prove, like Hume
to be, when known, of little consequence ; and, when unknown,
to be nothing. Adultery he could exhibit also, like Hume and
Bolingbroke, as not forbidden by the law of nature, and as ne-
SER. XX.] AND LAZARUS. 297
cessary to the real enjoyment of life. The innocence of Gam-
bling and Profaneness he could display with arguments, fraught
with the same ingenuity and conviction ; and when argument
failed could rout his antagonists with a jest, applauded of course
by all his dependents and associates in pleasure.
Thus he withheld not his heart from any joy. Life was to him
a period of sunshine, and a circuit of vernal seasons only. Light
and gaiety, verdure and bloom, abundance and pleasure, frolic-
some companions and laughing amusements ; were his constant
round of happy existence. Every day brought its brilliancy
and its enjoyments. Every sun rolled round only a succession of
good. In his bosom conscience, early silenced and finally dis-
couraged, ceased to reprove ; and, during his life, no gloomy
preacher or melancholy enthusiast embittered happiness by un-
seasonable and unwelcome suggestions concerning sin, or judg-
ment, or future retribution.
But in the midst of this joyous career, Death pointed the fatal
arrow at his heart. His wealth, his grandeur, his gaiety, his
sports, his flatterers, his physicians ; could not defend him from
this conflict, nor prevent his fall. Perhaps his stupidity and gross-
ness of mind continued to the last ; and he died, as he had lived,
a brute. Perhaps, like many other proud, hardened, and guilty
wretches, he awaked on a dying bed to sense and reason, for the
first time ; and now found, that all his former conduct was mad-
ness, that his pleasures were nothing, and that his dangers were
real and dreadful. Now, perhaps for the first time, he began to
feel that he was dependent on God, and accountable to him.
Now, perhaps, he made the first essay towards a prayer. But
the day of grace was past to him. His prayers were the cries of
hardened guilt, extorted by danger and fear ; and they were dis-
regarded and rejected ! The Mercy he had so long slighted and
so impiously mocked, now laughed at his calamity, and mocked
when his fear came. He called, but God would not answer : he
stretched out his hand, but God would not regard.
At Death his situation was in all respects reversed,
1st. He was disembodied.
298 THE RICH MAN [SER. XX.
All his pleasures in this life came lo him through the body.
They were all pleasures of sense, and arose from animal indul-
gence. They consisted in pampering the lust of the flesh, in sa-
tiating the lust of the eyes, and in fulfilling the demands of the
pride of life. Eating and drinking, sloth and lewdness, wealth
and splendour, gaiety and amusement; were his whole list of
enjoyments; the amount of all which he considered as real good. ,
But his Body was now gone. His face and limbs, so delicate* 1
ly fed and adorned, were turned into a pale and lifeless corpse,
divested of all its former beauty and splendour, and clothed with
deformity and corruption. The form, which he once idolized,
was now carried out of the palace which it so long and so proud- 1
ly inhabited, and laid in the solitary grave. There it was proved :
to have been pampered only for the feast of worms. Worms
were now its only companions, and reigned over the great and
proud man with absolute dominion. All, that remained of him,
was turned into dust, undistinguishable from the earth around
him.
2dly. He was now in the absolute want of all things.
As his body had been the means of all his enjoyments ; with ]
its destruction all his enjoyments vanished. In the vast universe ■
lie could find nothing, which he could call his own. All was a I
wide and solitary waste ; where no good sprang up, no spring of 3
pleasure flowed, and no living verdure rose. An Arabian desert, ■
boundless and hopeless, it presented nothing to his eye but bar-
renness and death.
3dly. He was despised.
In the future world the treasures of the mind only make rich ;
and the dignity of the mind only confers honour. Of these treas-
ures he had none. Of course he was wholly destitute of the means
of conferring enjoyment on others. He was unable to befriend
any ; and wanted therefore the means of awakening gratitude, or
creating dependence ; of engaging flatterers, or securing services.
The respect and deference, produced by afliuence and splendour,
he could not command ; because he possessed nothing. Personal
worth he had none. Of course he could not be respected. The
SER. XX.] AND LAZARUS. 299
attributes and actions which commanded respect, he had always
I despised and rejected. On the contrary he chose a character, in
itself contemptible ; and he scorned and loathed all real dignity.
He could claim, therefore, no regard for what he was, or what he
possessed. As all this was the result of his own choice, he ap-
peared only as a madman and a profligate ; and he was of course
regarded only with scorn and derision. The contempt, with
which he had formerly treated all good men, now rebounded on
his own head. Eye he had, in this respect, paid to him for an
eye, and tooth for a tooth ; and his gross conduct to others, cause-
less and insolent, was now repaid sevenfold.
4thly. He was miserable.
All his good things, the whole stock destined for him through-
out eternity, he had received in this life. Like a giddy prodigal
he had spent his whole estate ; and he was now a bankrupt
forever. He was dreadfully disappointed of all his expecta-
tions. He had fully intended, and firmly resolved, not to 6e, be-
yond the grave. But in spite of himself he existed. He had as
firmly resolved, if he should exist, to be happy ; and had often
proved to himself and to his companions, that God could not,
consistently with his character, make him unhappy.
In hell he was forced to reside ; and there he was tormented
by all the ingredients of misery. The world of woe spread im-
mensely before his sight ; and through its melancholy regions he
was now beginning an everlasting journey. All around him was
dreary and desolate : all before him was forlorn and dreadful.
He was without friends, without enjoyments, and without hope.
He confesses himself to be friendless in the world where
he dwelt ; for he appeals not to any of his companions, but
to Lazarus and to Abraham, for relief. In the request which
he makes to them, he also declares himself to be utterly destitute
of enjoyments ; for he asks for the least of all enjoyments only ;
and even this was denied.
He saw at the same time Lazarus, in heaven, in the bosom of
Abraham ; the man, whom above all others he pitied and despis-
ed, as the wretch pre-eminently outcast from heaven, and forgot-
300 THE RICH MAN [SER. XX
ten and miserable in this world. To this forsaken wretch, who,
a few days before, had desired to be fed from the crumbs which
fell from his own table, he now becomes a suppliant for a single
drop of water. This prayer he found with full conviction could
not be granted ; and the refusal put an end to his hopes and )jms
prayei*s forever.
I shall now consider,
II. The Circumstances of Lazarus ; in the present world, and
in the future.
In this world, Lazarus was
1 St. In a state of the most abject poverty.
He was a beggar, proverbially the poorest of mankind, and
perfectly destitute of property ; of comforts and necessaries alike.
He was poor, even for a beggar ; and in want of those things,
which beggars usually obtain. He desired to be fed from the
crumbs, which fell from the rich man's table. Even the crumbs
which fell from the rich man's table were an object, and it would
seem the highest object, of his desires. Beyond the possession
of these, it does not appear that he even raised or cherished a
wish ; and it would seem, that even these were sparingly given
to him. He was laid at the gate of the rich man by those, who,
not improbably, wished to free themselves from the burden of see-
ing and relieving him ; and who cast him down here, with that
cold compassion, which was satisfied if it did not see him die of
want. Here he lay under the naked heaven, and had no bed but
the ground.
He was also full of sores. A malignant and incurable leprosy
appears to have infected and overcome him ; so that he was un-
able to walk, and was therefore carried by others to this place.
Of course he was unclean ; an outcast from the congregation ;
and an object of loathing to all who saw him.
There he had neither physician, nor nurse. The dogs were
the only assistants which he found, or who had feeling enough
to attempt his relief. They came, and licked his sores, and fur-
nished him with his only earthly comfort, except the crumbs on
which he meagerly subsisted.
SER. XX.] AND LAZARUS. 301
2dly. He was miserable.
All the preceding circumstances exhibit this as an additional
ingredient in his sufferings. His want, his wretchedness, his loath-
someness, the incurable and odious disease with which he was
affected, the place where he was laid, and his desertion by man-
kind ; are all so many striking proofs of the contempt, in which
he was holden.
Equally are they evidences of the constant misery which he
suffered. The pains of his disease must have been continual, in-
tense, and dreadful. His total want of friends, of relief, of com-
passion, of hope ; the contempt and loathing, which he was obli-
ged to sustain ; and the hardness of heart, which he saw daily
proved by the conduct of all around him ; must have pressed
equally upon his body and mind, and overwhelmed him with an-
guish and despair.
Thus he was without good in possession or in reversion, in the
present world.
After suffering for a time these numerous evils, this singular
complication of woes, his frame sunk under them ; and nature.,
wearied out with enduring, gave way. He died, and gave up
the ghost. That he was buried, does not appear. It is scarcely
probable, that those, who had entirely neglected him through
life, were mindful of him after he was dead. What was now his
condition ?
In the future world, he was
1 St. Rich in the abundance of all things.
Poor as he was in this world, destitute as he was of earthly
property, friends, and hope ; he had, with an industrious and care-
ful hand, laid up treasures in the heavens. Durable riches and
righteousness constituted his property, and of these he had an
abundance. The wealth of the mind, the hidden treasure, the
wealth which makes rich beyond the grave and which passes with
an eternal currency among immortal and glorified beings ; he
had stored up with an eager diligence. With these treasures he
entered that world, and immediately found himself to be amply
provided for his future and eternal subsistence.
Vol. II. 39
302 THE RICH MAN [SER. XX
2dly. He was honourable.
In that world, as well as in this, all the rich are respected and
honoured. The treasures, which exist there, are the means of
certain and universal reputation and regard. These he was seen
and acknowledged to possess in a superior degree, and was there-
fore regarded as justly claiming the respect of all its inhabitants.
What a contrast was this to his former situation ! With what
emotions must he have been agitated, when he entered that world?
So poor, despised, and humble a man could hardly have failed to
expect some share at least of that lowliness of condition and
character, which on earth he had known from bitter experience.
To be lowly, and despised, and poor, was to him a habit; and
the only habit, which, with respect to these things, he could be
supposed to have formed here below. How then must he have
been surprised and astonished, when he opened his eyes in eterni-
ty; and beheld angels waiting to receive him, and to conduct him
to the house of his heavenly Father. In what manner must he
have been lost in wonder, who knew not what respect or kindness
was from his fellow men, to see these immortal beings meet him
with smiles of friendship and complacency, hail him as their friend
and companion, salute him as one of those sinners whose repent-
ance had diffused an universal joy over the heavenly world, and
proffering themselves to him as his conductors to heaven.
Think of the glorious character of his attendants ; the change
of his circumstances ; the novelty of the treatment which he re-
ceived ; and the wonders of the prospect, opened before him.
To the great and splendid in this world he had only bowed with
awe. From them, he had never received even a look of tender-
ness and compassion ; much less the acts of beneficence and re-
lief. Above him they were lifted too high, to cast their eyes down
on so lowly and insignificant a being. Of but little more conse-
quence than a worm, all, that he expected, or could expect, was.
not to be crushed by the foot of insolence and power.
But now these illustrious inhabitants of heaven, who stand be-
fore the throne of God, in comparison with whom all the princes
and nobles of the earth are as insects, presented themselves be
! ^En. XX.] AND LAZARUS. 303
fore him as hi? friends, companions, and guides ; welcomed him
to their affection and esteem ; and proffered voluntarily to him
every kind office. The eye of contempt could novi^ no more
glance at him ; the finger of scorn no more mark him as its butt ;
the heart of unkindness no more harden itself against his suffer-
ings ; nor the door of pride be insolently shut against his peti-
tions. Now he was changed from the beggar, the leper, the
child of suffering and despair, into a son, and king, and priest, of
God ; and he was destined to reign with him forever and ever.
3dly. He ivas happy.
He was happy in external things, in which he was before mis-
erable. All such things now became supremely delightful and
desirable to him. His habitation, now, was the house of his
heavenly Father ; one of the mansions of which was henceforth
allotted to him as his everlasting residence. In this glorious
'. place he was united to companions and friends, who knew, and
acknowledged, and rejoiced, in his worth ; who possessed the
same character, delighted in the same objects, and were occupi-
ed in the same pursuits, with himself To minister to his enjoy-
ments, and to receive from him with pleasure and gratitude his
kind offices ; was one of the employments which they coveted,
I and to which they were to be forever devoted. The Master,
whom both he and they served and were forever to serve, was
their infinite and eternal Friend ; who forgave, redeemed, and
I sanctified them all ; and who removed them from this miserable
world to his own immediate residence, only to bestow on them a
never ending series of blessings. Here he was a son, an heir, a
joint heir with Christ, the First-born, "to an inheritance undefiled
and that fadeth not away." His prospects were, therefore, all
bright and ravishing. On earth all the evil, that he was ever to
suffer, had been received. Throughout the ages of the eternal
future nothing remained for him but good, overflowing and eter-
nal good.
His conduct, during his probation on earth, was approved.
He had "been faithful over the few things," entrusted to his
charge ; and being pronounced to have well done, he was admit-
304 ' THE RICH MAN AND LAZARUS. [SER. XX.
ted forever into " the joy of his Lord." His sins were all forgiv-
en, and washed away in the blood of the Redeemer. His soul
was purified from every stain ; and delivered from every error, and
from every fear. His former hopes were now terminated in frui-
tion immensely superior to all that eye had seen, or ear heard, or
heart conceived. His faculties were ennobled and perfected.
To know, to love, and to enjoy, was henceforth his only business;
the proper destination of a rational, virtuous, and immortal mind.
To the Resurrection he looked forward without impatience,
but with a dehghtful assurance of hope. Then his vile body,
committed to the grave in weakness, corruption and dishonour,
he knew would be raised in power, incorruption, and glory ; and
changed, and refashioned like unto Christ's glorious body, accor-
ding to the working, whereby he is able to subdue all things unto
himself He knew, from the promises of God, that, at that pe-
riod, his body and mind would be re-united ; and would constitute
one perfect and glorious man, formed for none but exalted pur-
poses and enjoyments. He also knew, that, at that period, all
his companions in the faith and patience of the saints would be
united with him ; and that, thus united, all would commence the
divine system of virtuous existence and virtuous conduct, destin-
ed to adorn the new heavens and the new earth, wherein right-
eousness shall dwell forever.
SERMON XXI.
THE COMING OF CHRISl'.
Luke xii. ^0.
Be ye therefore ready ^ also ; for the Son of Man cometh at an
hour, when ye think not.
In the preceding part of this Chapter our Saviour gives us a
series of most solemn and important instructions concerning our
conduct in the present hfe, and our preparation for that which
is to come. In the 35th verse he enjoins the duty of watchful-
ness as eminently interesting to man, especially to Christians ;
and in the succeeding verses, enforces it by several solemn con-
siderations. To this injunction he returns, immediately, in the
text ; and annexes to it a reason, of the highest moment : " Be
ye, therefore, ready, also ; for the Son of Man cometh at an
hour, when ye think not."
In discoursing upon this passage I propose to consider briefly
I. The persons, to whom the command is addressed j
II. The command itself^ and
III. The Reason, by which it is e? forced.
I. The persons, to whom the command was addressed, were
originally, the audience, to which our Saviour was speaking.
These, as St. Luke informs us, were " an innumerable multi-
tude of people," gathered as it would seem, to hear him preach
the Gospel. A part of them were his disciples : a part of them
were his enemies : and a part, probably including the greatest
number, could scarcely have known any thing of him, unless by
-report. To all these classes of men the command is addressed
in the written Gospel. To him, who reads it, and to him, who
30G THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXI.
hears it, it is addressed alike; and that, whether he be a christian,
or a sinner ; acquainted with Christ, or unacquainted. At the
present time, it is addressed immediately to every member of
tliis audience.
II. In examining the command itself I shall briefly mention,
1st. l^^hat that is, for which ive are to be ready : and
2dly. What is included in being ready.
1st. We are required, to be ready for the Coming of Christ.
There are several senses, in which this phrase may be fairly
understood, as used in the Scriptures. When it is applied to in-
dividuals, it particularly denotes the day of death. Death to eve-
|ry man is the time, in which Christ will come ; which will termi-
nate every man's probation, and put an end to the necessity
and duty, of watching, so solemnly enjoined in the text. All the
purposes, for which he is to watch, are then finally settled ; and
all the opportunities of becoming ready for the appearance of
his Master are ended forever. Whatever privileges, whatever
means, of amendment he may have possessed ; he will posses
them no more. Whatever resolutions he may have formed,
whatever labours he may have begun, towards the preparation,
enjoined ; they will all cease at this period. If the work is not
now done ; it will never be done. For the coming of Christ,
then, on our dying day we are here commanded to be ready.
We are also required to be ready for the Judgment. When we
leave the world, we shall be summoned to give an account of the
manner in which we have spent our probation, and employed
our talents. This account we shall give to Christ himself; and
shall then be declared by him to have done well, or ill. The sen-
tence, which he will here pronounce, will be irreversible ; and
the trial admit of no appeal. Our souls will be suspended on its
issue : and whatever good or evil may be in store for us during
the progress of our future being ; whatever may be hoped, and
whatever may be dreaded, by us ; it will all follow this decision.
For an event of this magnitude it is immensely important, that we
should be ready.
SER. XXL] THE COMING OF CHRIST. 307
We are, also, to be ready for Eternity. In this immense dura-
tion the final sentence will be carried into complete, and endless,
execution. Every work, which we have done in this life, will
then find its reward : and the sum of happiness, or the mass of
misery, allotted to us, will be 'immeasurably great.. Who ought
not to be ready for such a state of being, as this ? What meas-
ures ought to be grudged? What pains ought to be spared?
What self-denial ought not cheerfully to be undergone ?
2dly. / will now proceed to enquire what is included in being
Ready.
This subject, for reasons which satisfy myself, I shall canvass
in the negative form. From the characteristics of those, who
are not ready, my audience may, if they are willing, learn with
some advantages, which are peculiar to this mode of discussion,
the true nature of that preparation for the coming of Christ,
which he has enjoined in the text.
In the first place. No person is ready for the coming of Christ.,
who does not keep the Sabbath holy.
We are required in the Scriptures to '' turn away our foot from
the Sabbath, from doing our pleasure on this holy day ; to call
the Sabbath a delight, and the Holy of the Lord honourable ; and
to honour him : not doing our own ways, nor finding our own
pleasure, nor speaking our own words." If we do this ; we are
furnished with a series of most gracious promises, conveying to
us the richest of all blessings. We shall be accepted in all our
solemn services ; shall be enabled to " delight" ourselves "in Je-
hovah ;" shall be made "joyful in his house of prayer ;" and
shall have given to us " an everlasting name, that shall not be cut
off." At the same time, we are required not to " forsake the as-
sembling of ourselves together ; to worship the Lord in the beau-
ty of holiness ;" and are taught, that all the good, esteem the
" tabernacles of Jehovah amiable ;" that their " heart," and their
" flesh, cry out for the living God" that his house is to them, as a
nest to the sparrow ; and that " every one of them in Zion ap-
peareth before him." Here, we are taught, " he is their Sun, and
their Shield :" here he " gives grace, and glory :" and hero " he
308 THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXI.
withholds from them no godd thing." On the other hand, the
anger of God against the pollution of the Sahbath is awfully
shown in the law, which required, that " the Sabbath breaker
should be stoned ;" in the declaration, that the land should lie
desolate during the Babylonish captivity, because it did not rest
in their Sabbaths, while the Israelites dwelt upon it; and in the
prediction of God, recorded by Ezekiel, that he " would pour out
his fury upon them in the wilderness, to consume them, because »
they greatly polluted his Sabbaths."
It will not be denied, that in this audience the number of per-
sons, who do not perform these duties, and are guilty of these
sins, is not small. The listless, sleeping, stupid attitude, so often
seen in this house ; and the trifling, light-minded, irreverent char-
acter, perhaps on no Sabbath unseen ; prove beyond a hope, as
well as beyond a doubt, that this holy day is by the same persons
profaned, and polluted, elsewhere. To every one of these persons
I say without hesitation. You are not ready for the coming of
Christ. You live in a regular, gross, daring disobedience to the
commands of God ; commands, too, delivered to mankind in a
manner, awful and solemn ^eyond expression. At the same
time you have not attempted, you are not now attempting, to
prepare yourselves either for death, judgment, or eternity. This
is evident beyond all controversy, because the Sabbath is the very
day, and the Sanctuary the very place, in which, more than in
all others, this preparation is to be made. This is the time, in
which God especially requires you to " hear his voice, and not
harden your hearts." This is the day, on which, if ever, your
burnt offerings and sacrifices are to be accepted on his altar.
This is the day, on which " the Lord hath chosen Zion, and de-
sired it for his habitation." On this day he says, " This is my rest
forever : here will I dwell. I will abundantly bless her provision,
I will satisfy her poor with bread :" the bread of hfe. " I will
clothe her priests with salvation ; and the saints shall shout aloud
for joy." To these commands you refuse obedience ; these bles-
sings you cast away.
SER. XXI.] THE COMING OF CHRIST. 309
If you feel at a loss concerning your readiness for the coming
of Christ ; ponder with deep solemnity the emotions with which
you will recite before your Judge, the manner, in which you have
hitherto kept the Sabbath, and behaved in the Sanctuary. What
reasons will you be able to give, why you have from week to
week profaned this holy day, and wasted its golden hours in idle-
ness, in trifling, in stupid inattention ; and why in this house of
God you have forgotten all your duty, and neglected your souls ?
What reasons will you allege for turning a deaf ear to the pre-
cepts, and denunciations, of the divine law ? What reasons will
you give for turning a hard heart to the offers of mercy in the
Gospel ? Christ has often met you here. Can you allege a rea-
son, which he will admit, why you have not believed in him ? Of-
ten, very often, has he proffered to you all the blessings of his re-
demption. Why have you not received them ? He has solemn-
ly called upon you to forsake your sins. Why have you not for-
saken them ? He has warned you with infinite tenderness to
" flee from the wrath to come." Why have you not escaped ?
He has intreated you to " lay hold on eternal life." Are you pos-
sessed of a reason for refusing it, which you are willing to recite
to him in your final account ?
Beside these glaring proofs of your absolute want of prepara-
tion for this most affecting interview, remember, that Heaven is
the temple of God; the seat of perpetual worship. Over its de-
lightful realms rolls an everlasting Sabbath. This day of immor-
tality dawns, to be succeeded by no future evening. Its morning
incense spreads wide its fragrance, never to cease again. Its
piety kindles, its raptures glow, never to be extinguished. Its
praises tremble on the harps, and lips, of " the multitude, which
no man can number," to be silent no more forever. How can
you be prepared to unite in such worship as this, to whom the
present, momentary, imperfect worship of an earthly Sabbath is
an insupportable burthen ? How can a voice, dumb in this world
to the praise of God, bear a part in the harmony of that ? How
can souls, sluggish and dead; how can eyes, which are here clo-
i sed in deep sleep amid the worship of God ; be awake, and
Vol. II. 40
310 THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXL
alive, to the sublimer worship of Heaven ? With what emotions
must the half-day attendant on the sanctuary, in this world, be-
hold the morning of a Sabbath, to which there will never be an
end?
Secondly. Prayerless persons are not ready for the coming of
Christ.
" In every thing," says St. Paul, " by prayer and supplicatioB
make known your wants unto God." " Pray always," says the
same Apostle again, " with all prayer." No commands are more
explicit, or unconditional than these. He therefore, who does
not obey them, obeys none. At the same time, the inducements
to pray are infinite. Man is not warranted to hope for a single
blessing, except as an answer to prayer : and if he prays with the
heart, he is assured of every blessing. The commands requiring
this duty, are given in every form, and on every occasion. The
encouragements to pray are numberless, and immeasurable.
Nay, prayer, in the Scriptures, is only another name for piety.
" Arise," said Christ to Ananias^ " and enquire in the house of
Judas for one, called Saul of Tarsus : for behold he prayeth."
Thus the whole welfare of the soul is suspended on the duty of
Prayer. In him therefore, who has not begun to pray, " there
is found no good thing towards the Lord God of Israel."
Yet how many are there before me, who never uttered a prayer
in their lives ; who have yet not learned the way to their closets ;
nor ever asked God to forgive their sins, or to save their souls.
How deplorable a part of your final account must this story be?
With what amazement will you remember your refusal to pray :
your negligence of prayer ; and the reasons, for which you neg-
lected this great duty. The promises were all before you. The
hand of God was opened to give. The water of life flowed at
your feet : and you were invited to take of it freely. But you
would not ask ; and therefore could not receive.
Thirdly. Those, who do not profess the Religion of Christ,
and enter into his Covenant, are not ready for his coming.
" Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I deny, when
I shall come in the glory of my F ather and with the holy Angel.«.
r
^ER. XXI.] THE COMING GP CHRIST. 311
And whosoever shall be ashamed to confess me before men, of
him shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he shall come in the
glory of his Father, and with his holy Angels," This audience
well know how great a proportion of their whole number have,
hitherto, failed to confess Christ before men. The reason, which
you yourselves will allege for this act of disobedience is, that you
do not believe yourselves prepared to make a profession of Reli-
gion in such a manner, as it ought to be made. In alleging this
reason do you not see irresistibly, that you declare yourselves to
be unprepared for the coming of Christ ? Certainly then, you
will not think it hard, that I take you at your word, and pro-
nounce you unprepared. You will not doubt, that those, who
are unfit to commune with Christ at his table, here, are unfit to
sit down with him in the kingdom above. If you have no sin-
cere interest in his death and sufferings ; you have unquestiona-
bly no title to the blessings, which they purchased.
The command to enter into covenant with God is sufficiently
plain to forbid all doubt in every man concerning his duty. God
covenants with us to be "our God," only when we covenant with
him to be " his people." What, then, is to become of those, who
do not enter into this covenant ? Let every such person remem-
ber, that there is no title to any spiritual or eternal blessing, but
through this covenant ; and that, if he be not found in it in the
end, he will not be acknowledged as a child of God, nor admit-
ted into his heavenly kingdom.
That persons do, in some instances, become real penitents, and
true believers, and from scruples of conscience are yet deterred
from making a public profession of Religion, I readily acknowl-
edge. I further acknowledge, that these persons have, in every
case, really given themselves up to God in this c(»venant ; al-
though they have not done it publicly. I also acknowledge, that
every one of these persons is numbered among the people of God,
and is entitled by the promises of this covenant to all the future,
immortal blessings, which it conveys. So far as these consider-
ations will communicate hope, peace, and comfort, to any indi-
vidual in this Assembly, I certainly wish to give him consolation.
312 THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXI.
That there are such persons in this Assembly is not improba-
ble : and I certainly wish them all the comfort, and all the hope,
which on evangelical principles they can obtain. As, however,
it is of the last importance, that they should not be deceived,
either by themselves, or by me, let me suggest to them the fol-
lowing things.
They have not hitherto, made a public profession of Religion.
The reason, why they have not done it, is they doubt their own
fitness to make it, or in other words their ability to make it with
truth. In this manner they give their own deliberate judgment
against themselves.
Let me then ask them, whether there is not reason for them to
fear, that their own judgment is at least sufficiently favourable to
themselves ; and whether God, who sees them exactly as they
are, may not judge even more unfavourably than they.
At the best, their whole safety obviously lies in the supposition,
that they are self-deceived, and that their case is really better
than it is believed to be by themselves. It is hardly necessary to
observe how insufficient this supposition is to furnish solid com-
fort, and supporting hope. Let me exhort them, therefore, to
give themselves no rest, until they see their way to a public pro-
fession of Religion clear, and until they have actually confessed
Christ before men.
Fourthly. Those persons also, are unprepared for the coming
of Christ, who prefer the world to him.
" He," saith our Saviour, " who loveth father or mother more
than me, is not worthy of me : and he, that loveth son or daugh-
ter more than me, is not worthy of me." If we may not prefer
these most intimate relations, whom God has required us to love
with great tenderness, more than Christ ; certainly there is noth-
ing, which we are permitted to love in this manner. According-
ly, St. John observes, " If any man love the world ; the love of
the Father is not in him."
To every intelligent being there is some one supreme object of
his affections : and this is, probably, always either God, or him-
self. But God admits, here, no rival His only command with
^ER. XXI.j THE COMING OF CHRIST. 313
respect to this subject is, " Thou shalt love the Lord, thy God,
with a!i thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind,
and with all thy strength." By every person, who prefers the
world to Christ, this command is continually violated.
Ask yourselves, then, whether you do not prefer the world to
Christ. To determine this question, enquire further, whether its
riches, honours, and pleasures, are not more frequently the objects
of your thoughts, your wishes, your designs, and your labours.
Enquire whether they are not more frequently the subjects of
your conversation ; and whether Christ is the subject of your
conversation at all.
Enquire further, whether you have hitherto believed in him
with the faith of the Gospel ; with that confidence of the heart,
which flows out continually in acts of obedience to his command-
ments, and ordinances ; whether you have felt, that your salva-
tion must be derived from him only ; that there is no other pos-
sible expiation for your sins, and no other ground of acceptance
with God ; and that therefore, if not interested in his righteous-
ness, you will be undone.
If you have, indeed, formed these views, and exercised these
affections ; you do prefer Christ to the world ; and may hope,
with the best reasons, to be " remembered" by him " in the day
when he makes up his jewels." But alas ! how much cause do
most of you daily give, even in the view of charity and compas-
sion, to fear, that they are all, hitherto, to be begun ; that the
world is now your god, your portion, and your all. What a de-
plorable account must every person of this character give to
Christ, at his coming, of " the deeds, done in the body."
Fifthly. All persons are unprepared fur the coming of Christ,
who hav^ hitherto put off their Repentance to a future season.
" Except ye repent," said our Saviour to his Apostles, " ye shall
all likewise perish." But he, that has postponed his repentance
to a future day, is hitherto in this perishing condition ; and,
should Christ summon him to the Judgment, must appear before
him in all his guilt. His first labour is yet left undone. His first
ifitep towards Heaven has hitherto not been taken.
314 THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXI.
" Procrastination," says Dr. Young, " is the thief of time.'"
With time, it steals away also all the designs, and efforts, of man,
out of which, his reformation might spring. In this manner it
steals away your probation ; and will finally steal away your
souls. Not only, therefore, are you now unprepared, so far as
this is your character ; but there is the most melancholy reason
to fear, that you will never be prepared for that interview with
your Judge, at which all your interests of soul, and body, are to
be fixed forever.
Sixthly. All those persons, also, are unready for the coming of
Christ, who in their schemes of reformation reserve to themselves
the indulgence of some sinful disposition, or the perpetration of
some particidar sin.
" Whosoever abideth in him," says St. John, " sinneth not.
Whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him."
I. John iii. 6. To sin is no part of the scheme of action, proposed
for himself by him who abideth in Christ. That every such per-
son commits sin is unquestionable : but it is not a part of his de-
signs. Yet those are not wanting; and, it is to be feared, they
are not few ; who form general intentions of reformation, and
believe themselves to be really, and in some good degree, refor-
med ; who still, in their scheme of amendment proceed no far-
ther, than to drop such sins, as they can most easily part with,
and reserve to themselves the privilege of committing such, as
are especially dear to them. The Christian's design is to " lay
aside every weight," and, especially, " the sins, which most ea-
sily beset him." The design of these men is to retain such sins,
and lay aside others.
The miser, for example, will quietly give up the costly pursuits
of ambition and pleasure, if he may be only permitted to amass
wealth, and use the means, which are necessary for that purpose.
The ambitious man is willing to yield wealth to the miser, and
pleasure to the voluptuary ; if he may only remain undisturbed
in the chase of distinction. Give the voluptuary his pleasures ;
and he will cheerfully consent, that any others, who will, may
toil in the sordid business of ambition and avarice.
SER. XXI. THE COMING OF CHRIST. 315
These are gross and obvious cases : and concerning thena
there will probably be httle doubt. But there are very many
others, scarcely suspected to be of the same nature, which are,
yet, always equally dangerous, and often no less fatal. There
are very many persons, who from motives of safety, reputation,
or decency, pass with no small propriety through life, and ac-
quire even the character of Christians : who yet practise, habit-
ually, sin which is scarcely observed by others, or perhaps by
themselves. If they advance so far, as to give up other sins ;
they believe, that God will be satisfied, and that themselves
shall be accepted. Some of these persons reserve to themselves
the privilege of being peevish and fretful ; some, that of being
censorious ; and some that of tale-bearing. Multitudes cannot
give up the pleasure of making good bargains as they are pleased
to style them. Multitudes insist upon the right of conforming
to the customs of the world ; and often speak of it as a thing
absolutely necessary. Among these, many feel, that they may
safely neglect family prayer. Not a small number feel, that they
may sport and jest with sacred things ; or that they may make
journeys of convenience, or excursions of pleasure and amuse-
ment, on the Sabbath ; or that they may use impure language in
their conversation ; or that they may safely colour their represen-
tations beyond the truth. Others, still, believe, that they may
harbour an unkind, unforgiving spirit ; or that they may safely
enjoy the diminution of a rival's reputation ; or that they may
read licentious books, or indulge a licentious imagination. Fi-
nally, there are very many, who claim to themselves as a privi-
lege to spend the golden hours of life in specious idleness; in the
progress of which little is done, that is useful to God or man, in
which amusement takes the place of business, the day of salva-
tion is consumed in ease and sport, and the soul is bartered for
the pleasure, found in trifling. Little do these persons feel, that
they are bound not to " be slothful in business, but fervent in spirit,
serving the Lord ; to work while the day lasts," and to remem-
ber, that " the night cometh, when no man can work."
316 THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXI.
In these and many other ways muhitudes of mankind reserve
to themselves some sinful course of hfe, or other, as a privilege.
They are willing, that is, they think themselves willing, to obey
most of the commands of God ; and secretly hope, that he will
not require their obedience to the rest. Thus in their hearts they
make a bargain with their Maker ; and agree, that, if he will per-
mit them to sin in such and such ways, they will obey him in such
and such other ways. The sins, which they reserve, are always
their favourite sins ; those, " which most easily beset them ;"
and those, therefore, which God requires of us always most anx-
ious and watchfully to resist.
He, who does not intend to obey the divine commands univer-
sally, neither intends to obey, nor actually obeys, them at all.
Multitudes cheat themselves in this respect ; but they cannot
cheat their Maker. The universality of our obedience is the first
proof, that it is real and sincere. All those, therefore, who adopt
the conduct, which I have here described, must be miserably pre-
pared to meet their Judge.
Seventhly. Those, also, are unready for the coming of Christ,
who do not continually, and solemnly, converse with death, judg-
ment, and eternity.
We become ready for death by bringing it home to our hearts;
by pondering it daily, and deeply ; and by thus learning what it
is to die. We become ready for our final account by consider- |
ing with all an.viety of mind what that account will be, and what
are " the deeds, done in the body," of which it will be composed.
We become ready for eternity by realizing, often, its endless du-
ration ; the immense magnitude of the scenes, which it unfolds ;
and the irreversible nature of the allotments, destined to us be-
yond the grave. I do not mean, that such meditations will sanc-
tify us, nor that they will entitle us to sanctification ; but I intend,
that they are among the happiest means of bringing forward this
divine consummation. This at least will, I presume, be granted
on all hands ; that he, who does not think of these things, must
be ill prepared to meet them.
SER. XXI.3 THE COMING OF CHRIST. 31"?
Nothing is more evident, than that our negligence will not al-
ter the nature of those momentous events, which are before us.
However regardless we may be ; it will still be a solemn thing to
die ; an awful thing to be judged ; an amazing thing, to enter
upon the recompense of reward. How many of you have either
never considered these subjects at all, or thought of them only
with a glance of the mental eye, or a momentary excursion of
the imagination : and this, too, forced upon you by some alarm-
ing discourse, or some sickness which arrested you, or the death
of a friend, or some other terrifying event. Think, I beseech
you, what it is to die ; what it is to stand before God ; what it is
to give an account of all your conduct in the present life ; what
it is to hear the last sentence ; what it is to ascend to Heaven, or
go down to Hell. Does not even a momentary reflection compel
you to believe ; nay, does it not compel you to feel ; that no
thought, no anxiety, no labour, can be too great to prepare you
for events of such overwhelming importance? Does not the same
thought prove to you, that he, who never ponders them at all,
must be deplorably unprepared.
Eighthly. Careless Christians are, also, unhappily prepared
for the coming of Christ.
It is to be particularly remembered, that the precept in the
text was especially addressed by our Lord to his disciples. It was,
therefore, necessary for them. But, if they needed it, no Chris-
tian, of modern times, will believe it to be less necessary for him-
self. Pecuharly is its quickening influence desirable : and, let
me add, especially when Christians are at ease, negligent, and
sluggish, in the performance of their duty« Certainly such Chris-
tians are unhappily prepared for the coming of their Lord.
Of what will the final account, given by these persons, con-
sist ? How few, how imperfect, will the services of the best men
appear, when they come to be rehearsed at the final day, ex-
amined by the eye of the Judge, and set in the light of his coun-
tenance ? How much fewer, and of how much less value, will be
the services of the persons in question ? How small a part of
their duty will they be found to have done : and how great a por
Vol. IL 41
318 THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXI.
tion of their life will appear to have been filled up with mere
negligence ? How much nearer than they mistrust, how much
nearer than they will then be willing to remember, will they be
found to have approached towards the character of the "unprofit-
able, and slothful, servant, who wrapped his talent in a napkin,
and buried it in the earth V These, certainly, will be melancholy
recitals to him, who came from heaven, lived a life of suff*ering,
and died on the Cross, that we might live forever. Let every
slothful Christian, then, awake to a sense of his condition, and
character. Let him search his life. Let him probe his heart.
Let him mark the little periods, in which he has done his duty ;
and the melancholy chasms, filled up either with doing it by halves,
in fragments and scraps, or with doing nothing, or with com-
mitting sin. Let him also remember, that all these things will
constitute a part of his final account.
IIL I will now proceed to the consideration of the Reason, by
which the duty of preparing ourselves for the coming of Christ
is enforced in the text. " For the Son of Man cometh in an
hour, when ye think not."
In other words, Death, Judgment, and Eternity, will come at
a time, which we cannot foresee, and of which we are not aware.
The true weight of this reason hes in the fact, that these things
are of such vast concern to us. Death ends our probation, and
introduces us to the Judgment. The Judgment finally decides
the great question, whether we shall be happy or miserable
throughout eternity : and Eternity involves all our well-being.
As the time when these things shall arrive, is wholly uncertain ;
we ought, obviously, to be ready for them at every period. We
are to be ready for them to-day, to-morrow, the next week, and
the next year ; because at either of these periods they may ar-
rive. Christ comes, as he himself informs us, and as all experi-
ence proves, " at even, at midnight, at the cock-crowing, and in
the morning." How plainly, then, ought every one of his " ser-
vants to watch, lest, coming sudddenly, his Master find him
sleeping."
feER. XXL] THE COMING OP CHRIST. 319
Unhappily, we are always prone to think death at a distance ;
and thus to feel, that we may safely postpone our repentance to a
future day. How few persons would be guilty of this procrasti-
nation if they really believed, that death was at the door ? This
then is our peculiar danger ; and to a great extent the source of
our negligence, and our ruin. The very uncertainty, which ought
to rouse us to the greatest diligence, only prompts us to sloth.
That, which ought to fill us with alarm, only lulls us into security.
Thus we go on, postponing the great business of life, till death
knocks at the door, and finds the work yet to be begun.
But to all, who thus waste their probation, and abuse the mer-
cy of God, the time of Christ's coming will be dreadful.
•
" Death, 'tis a melancholy day
To those, who have no God."
Surprised, hurried, overborne with distress, they leave the world
in terror ; and awake in eternity, utterly unprepared to meet their
Judge.
These solemn truths are peculiarly interesting to persons in
middle, and declining, life. If we are not ready ; when are we
to become so ? If our repentance is not now begun ; when is it
to commence? If we have not renounced sin; overcome the
world ; believed in Christ ; and given up ourselves to God ; what
reasons have we to hope, that the little of life, which remains,
will be spent to any better purpose, than the great portion, which
is past ?
How solemnly ought we to remember, that death will not wait
for our wishes ; that the Judgment is now hastening ; that Eter-
nity is at the door? Disease, unperceived, may now be making
progress in our veins ; and may be preparing without a suspicion
on our part to hurry us to the grave. How absurd, how deceit-
ful, how fatal, is our procrastination ! How dreadful our stupid-
ity ! What terrible reasons have we to do what our hands find to
do in this concern with our might !
Are we in health, and for this reason at ease about our salva-
tion ? So a month since were those, who died yesterday. Their
320 THE COMING OF CHRIST. [SER. XXI.
end exposes our folly in this senseless security ; and from the
tomb calls to us, " Be ye also ready."
To the young this duty becomes immensely interesting, be-
cause they now enjoy the best of all seasons for making this prep-
aration. Remember, that, however hard your hearts may now
be, they are more susceptible than they will probably be at any
future period. Lose not, then, this hopeful, verdant season, this
seed-time of life. Should the good seed be actually sown in ad-
vanced years ; it will find a sterile soil, and an inclement sky :
and the crop, if it should really follow, will scarcely repay the la-
bours of the reaper. What fearful reasons have you to believe,
that your hearts will be covered with thorns and briars ; that they
will be nigh unto cursing, and that thtir end will be to be burn-
ed ? How few of you are ready for the coming of Christ ? How
few would declare, that they believed themselves to be ready ?
How kw^ while taking a retrospect of their fives, can find in
them such a train of actions, as they would be willing to rehearse
before their Judge ?
Open your eyes ; and see your privileges, and with them
your hopes, every day lessening. Behold God every day remov-
ing farther from you ; and the world taking a more entire posses-
sion of your hearts. Look back. Do you not perceive, that the
gates of Heaven have already become more distant, dim and
doubtful, to your eyes ? Listen. Are not the calls of mercy al-
ready more indistinct. What hope can he, who is sinking every
moment, rationally entertain, that he shall not be drowned?
What hope can he, who is sliding down a precipice and all whose
efforts stop not his career at the beginning, soberly indulge, when
he is farther advanced, that lie will not be dashed in pieces at
the bottom. Now, then, lay hold on the hope set before you.
Renaember further, that life to you, also, is absolutely uncertain.
When your hopes of living long are high, and with full confi-
dence you are promising yourselves many days ; go to the neigh-
bouring burying-ground ; mark how many monuments are there
raised over the young ; and consider how many more at the same
period of life have become inhabitants of those dark and melaii-
SER. XXL] THE COMING OF CHRIST. 321
choly mansions, concerning wtiom no stone tells where they lie !
How soon may you join these tenants of the grave ! Wait not,
then, for hoary locks to inform you, that you are tottering over
the tomb. The gates of eternity are always open : and the
youth, the child, and the infant, are passing through them night
and day. The knell may soon toll for your funeral also : and
your weeping friends may soon follow you to the grave. How
distressing will it be to them to look into that dark and narrow
house, without a hope, and to follow your souls into eternity with
no supporting evidence, that, while here you believed in the Re-
deemer, or loved God ; or that there you will give your account
with joy, be acquitted at the final trial, or find your names writ-
ten in the Lamb's book of Life,
SERMON XXII.
THE FINAL INTERVIEW.
EccLESiASTEs xii. 7.
Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was ; and the spirit
shall return to God who gave it.
After the death of one of our fellow men, we hear the funer-
al bell summon together the surviving friends and neighbours of
the deceased, to perform the last kind offices. The assembly
gathers ; a prayer is made ; the coffin is placed on the bier, and
borne to the grave. The body is then committed to the earth.
A solemn address is made to the living, while surrounding the
narrow house ; and, with impressions produced by the affecting
event, and in some degree suited to its melancholy nature, they
then return to their own habitations.
Our friend has now bidden us a final adieu. The intercourse
between him and us is terminated ; and both the persons and
"places which knew him" in the present world, " will here know
him no more." Nothing is more obvious, than that this solemn
subject affects the survivors less than its importance demands.
The widow indeed, and the orphan children, usually mourn sin-
cerely, and in earnest. The death of the husband and the fa-
ther, has wounded their affection, lessened their happiness, and
overcast their hopes. There are, also, at least in many instan-
ces, other friends, less intimately connected, who sensibly feel the
breach made upon their enjoyments. But there are multitudes
of others, and those often not very remote in acquaintance or con-
sanguimty, whose last affecting emotions concerning the depart-
ed man are felt at the grave ; and who, when they turn their ke{
SER. XXII.] THE FINAL INTERVIEW. 323
homeward, leave behind them every sympathizing reflection, ev-
ery solemn thought. With them, hfe immediately assumes the
same aspect, as if they had never known him ; and the world,
as if he had never been.
But notwithstanding all this indiflerence to death, and to those
who are dead, there are occasions, on which these emotions will
in some measure come home to the heart ; incidents, which will
call them up to view in an affecting light ; and persons, by whom
they will be seriously realized in a manner not unsuited to their
importance. On such occasions, most men, perhaps, experience
at times some degree of solicitude ; and feel an involuntary
twinge, a transient chill, passing over their hearts. That we
should be so inattentive to a subject which so nearly concerns us,
and so strongly appeals to our natural tenderness, seems at first
thought to be strange. The explanation is in some degree, per-
haps principally, furnished by our fears. The death of others
naturally alarms us concerning our own departure ; and the con-
sideration of their future allotments easily leads us to reflections
concerning our own. It is not to be wondered at that subjects,
so painful as these, should be unwelcome whenever they ap-
proach ; and be dismissed, not only without reluctance, but with
eagerness and self-gratulation.
There are however seasons, in which we cannot wholly refuse
to wander into the unseen world. Those, who are witnesses ot
the death and burial of this departed friend, will, at times, follow
him in the exercise of imagination ; and inquire with some anxi-
ety whither he is gone ; where he dwells ; and by what circum-
stances he is surrounded. His body, we know, is lodged in the
grave ; is mouldering into its native dust ; and is already become
the prey of corruption, and the feast of worms. But where is
the Man ? Where is the livings conscious Beings that saw with
the eyes, spoke with the tongue, and moved the hands, of that
body ? Where is the being who thought and chose, loved and
hated, controlled the cares of the family, mingled in the inter-
course of the neighbourhood, and took an active part in the in
teresting concerns of the present world ?
324 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. [SER. XXII
Obviously, he is gone, to return no more. But whither has he
gone ? Is he " blotted out of the book of the living?" Kas he
returned to his original nothing ? Or has he become an inhabit-
ant of some unknown world, whence no person was ever per-
mitted to come with tidings to us ? He has " given up the ghost,
and where is he ?"
To these questions the Text returns a decisive answer. " Then
shall the dust return to the earth, as it was ; and the spirit shall
return to God, who gave it." The man, the livin_ti\ conscious be-
ing who inhabited the body lately committed to the grave, has
returned to God. We naturally inquire, "For what end has he
been summoned to the Presence of this glorious and awful Be-
ing ?" A following verse of the context replies, " For God shall
bring every work into Judgment, with every secret thing, whether
it be good, or whether it be evil." This short and affecting an-
swer to a question so solemn and interesting, it will be the aim
of this discourse to expand into a few particulars, kindly pre-
sented for our meditation in other parts of the Word of God.
It ought however to be observed, before I commence the exe-
cution of this design, that Ae, concerning whom we inquire, has
now become an unembodied spirit. That union with the body
which bound him to earthly objects, employments, and connec-
tions, is finally dissolved. To all these he has bidden his last
farewell ; and now wings his way alone, through the regions of
invisible being. The same man, who hved a little while since in
the midst of us, and whose remains we followed to the grave, is
now an inhabitant of eternity. Him we are now following to
that amazing vast ; that unknown somewhere. We pursue, not
an airy being of fancy, but a real man ; a neighbour and friend ;
separated from us but yesterday. Of this person it is to be ob-
served,
1st. That he has now begun his acquaintance and connection,
loith that World, of which he is to be a perpetual inhabitant.
The present world is a stage, where we are called to act a
part ; and are then destined to retire behind the curtain. The
part assigned to us, is short ; and the time allotted to it, momen-
flER. XXII.] THE FINAL INTERVIEW. 325
tary. When it is ended, we shall reappear no more. Such was
the situation of our deceased friend.
But now he has begun a state which is enduring, and incapa-
ble of change or termination. All his connections are eternal :
his pursuits ; his character ; his allotments. No new world hes
beyond. No revolution of years, or of ages, advances him near-
er to a close. No distant old age brings on its decays. No
death waits, to release him to some other, untried scenes of exis-
tence. He has opened his eyes at once on a prospect hterally
boundless ; and, roving onward and onward, with a wearisome
investigation, he sees ages rising after ages in a succession which
will begin forever.
2dly. He has entered into the presence of God, the Judge
of all.
In this world our neighbour, like ourselves, saw God at a dis-
tance ; in his works, faintly seen and slightly considered ; or in
his word, scarcely read, imperfectly understood, and httle re-
garded ; or perhaps in his own meditations, reluctantly employed
on this great subject, and coldly accompanied by affections en-
gaged about the things of time and sense.
But now he comes directly into the presence of his Maker ;
and beholds him face to face. He does not, indeed, behold
" Him," whom " no one hath seen, or can see, and live." But he
presents himself before the Son of God ; the divine person, "to
whom all Judgment is committed." His face he has beheld ;
his voice he has heard ; as in this world he had heard the voice,
and seen the face, of an earthly judge. While our friend lived
in the present world ; he had often heard many things concern-
ing this glorious person. He had heard of him, as a poor, desr
pised man ; as rejected, hated and persecuted ; as tried, con-
demned and crucified. He had heard of him, as wrapped in
swathes and spices, and laid in the grave ; as having risen from
the dead, and ascended to heaven. Perhaps he believed, per-
haps he disbelieved, the whole. If he believed, it was at the best
imperfectly ; distantly ; ^\vith a dullness, at which he is now as-
tonished ; with an insensibility, which now overwhelms him with
Vol. II, 42
326 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. [SER. XXII.
shame and confusion. If he disbelieved ; it was with a mind
clouded by moral darkness, and with a heart harder than the
nether millstone.
But now he has no opportunity either to believe, or to doubt.
Knowledge has now succeeded to conjecture ; and the evidence
of the eyes, to the report of the tongue. He stands in the pres-
ence of this wonderful person. How changed from him, who
expired on the cross, and was carried to the tomb ! Now he sits
on the throne of the universe ; and is worshipped and served, by
angels, archangels, and the endless multitude of the first-born !
Before him burn with an intense and eternal flame " the seven
Jamps of fire, which are the seven Spirits of God !" In his pres-
ence " the Seraphim bow, and veil their faces :" while " the four
and twenty Elders fall down, and worship ; cast their crowns be-
fore his throne ; and say, ' Thou art worthy, O Lord ! to receive
glory, and honour, and power ; for Thou hast created all things ;
and for thy pleasure they are, and were created !' " Round
about his throne stand " the four Living Creatures ;" all life ; all
eye ; all intellect ; and with an unceasing and eternal voice cry,
" Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty ! who wast, and who
art, and who art to come !" To his name are attuned all the
harps of the heavenly world. To his praise ascends the contin-
ual and everlasting hymn of the virtuous universe, "Blessing, and
honour, and glory, and power, and wisdom, and might, and
thanksgiving, be unto Him that sitteth on the throne, and to the
Lamb, forever and ever :" while "■ the innumerable company of
angels," and " the four living creatures" at their head, subjoin
their solemn Amen.
Before this glorious and wonderful person he now stands, face
to face ; and sees and hears him, as he is. He sees him the Judge
of the universe ; the great dispenser of good and evil ; whose
word is life and death ; whose favour is heaven ; whose anger is
hell. " His eyes are as a flame of fire ; arid his countenance is
as the sun, shining in its strength."
No helpless babe of Bethlehem, is here thrust into a stable, or
swathed in a manger. No " man of sorrows" is here, " despised
>ER. XXII.3 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. 327
and rejected of men," and destitute of a place, " where to lay
his head." No forsaken prisoner is here, crowned with thorns,
sceptred with a reed, mocked with insolent homage, buffeted,
spit upon, nailed to the cross, and laid, a hfeless corpse, in the
solitary grave. The Author and Proprietor of all worlds, the
object of immense and endless homage, obedience, and praise,
sits, here upon the throne of Judgment, to receive the account
of his conduct in the present hfe -, to acquit, or condemn him ;
and to utter that irreversible sentence, which decides his state of
being throughout eternity.
How new, how amazing, must have been the sight ! How aw-
ful must have been the interview ! In what manner must even
the best of men ; Abraham^ Moses, Paid, or John ; feel, when
summoned before him ! Paul was once, while he lived here be-
low, actually introduced into his presence : and was so over-
whelmed, that, as he himself has informed us, " he knew not
whether he was in, or out of, the body." What emotions then
must our departed friend have experienced ! With what immeas-
urable importance, in his view, must the occasion have been
invested ! With what stupendous glory must the Judge have dis-
closed himself to his eyes ! What a train of hurried, tumultuous
thoughts must have crowded upon his mind ! How must he have
shrunk into a worm, and felt as if he were returning to his origi-
nal nothing.
3dly. He has passed through that Trial, which awaits all the
children of Adam beyond the grave.
In this world our deceased friend was a probationer for endless
life. A time was allotted to him for his probation ; talents en-
trusted ; and privileges given. Such an use as he chose and lov-
ed, he here made of them all. He either loved God, or the
world ; embraced or rejected the Redeemer ; believed or disbe-
lieved the Gospel ; yielded to the Spirit of Grace, or resisted his
influence. He either did good or evil ; loved virtuous men, and
attached himself to them ; or " sate in the seat of the scorner,"
and " was numbered with the transgressors."
^
328 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. [SER. XXII.
He has now come, to render his final account. All the trans-
actions of his life have passed in exact review under the eye of
the awful and glorious person, to whose presence he has been
summoned. His profession in life, and the manner in which he
has discharged it, have been completely examined, and precisely
weighed. His conduct towards his fellow men has all been sif-
ted. His bargains particularly, have been thoroughly explored ;
the spirit with which he formed his contracts, and the manner in
which he acquired his gains. All his good or ill offices to his
neighbours have been disclosed ; his consent or refusal to inter-
change the common kindnesses of good neighbourhood ; his dis-
position or indisposition to impart to the poor, to befriend the sick,
and to relieve the distressed ; the malignity with which he slan-
dered, or the integrity with which he defended, his neighbour's
good name ; and the spirit, with which he obeyed or disobeyed
the laws, resisted or submitted to the Government, and injured
or promoted the interests, of his country. The manner also, in
which he has treated his family, has been exactly displayed. His
care of their lives, and his attention to their happiness and hopes
in this world ; and' his provision for their happiness beyond the
grave, daily made in discharging the duties of family piety, and
in furnishing his children with a religious education ; or his wan-
ton wickedness in neglecting the comfort, instruction, govern-
ment, and salvation, of those whom God committed to his care.
At the same time, a complete disclosure has been made of the
indulgence or restraint of his own passions ; of his sloth, lewd-
ness, and intemperance ; or of his diligence, continence, and so-
briety. Nor has the exhibition been less perfect of his reverence
or profaneness, his love or hatred, towards God ; his obedience
or disobedience to the divine commands ; the fervency of his
prayers, and the warmth of his gratitude ; or the cold, stupid,
prayerless, thankless manner, in which he has passed through his
earthly pilgrimage. All the secret sins, also, of his life, commit-
ted in thought, in darkness, and in solitude ; or the duties, prac-
tised in the loneliness of retirement; have now been shown in
clear and open day, and set "in the light of God's countenance.''
>ER. XXII.] THE FINAL INTERVIEW. .329
All these things he has himself recited. His memory, with new
power, has been opened on all the events of his earthly life.
His tongue, with a veracity before unknown, has spontaneously
yielded to the impulse of truth ; and, whether accustomed or not
to utter truth here below, has now declared with perfect exact-
ness, all the things " done in the body." The evil and disgrace-
ful scenes of his life he has rehearsed without disguise ; even
those which here he would not, for a thousand worlds, have ut-
tered to his nearest friend. Those which were honourable and
virtuous, he has in the same sincere manner declared, with no
self flattery, and no concealment of modesty. Naked truth has
here been the only law of communication.
Among the things which have most interested him on this af-
fecting occasion, those parts of his conduct, which have immedi-
ately respected Christy have undoubtedly holden a primary place.
With what peculiar emotions must he have repeated to the Sav-
iour of men, now arrayed in supreme glory and power, his own
unbelief and disobedience ! How difficult, and distressing, must
have been the rehearsal of the disregard, with which he heard
his instructions ; the stupidity, with which he contemplated his
miracles ; the enmity, which he exercised towards his character ;
the disobedience, which he exhibited to his commands and ordi-
nances ; and the contempt, which he cast upon the sufferings of
the cross ! When he beholds, face to face, the Son of God, who
died that he might live ; in what manner must his ingratitude to
so disinterested and divine a benefactor for benefits so endearing,
and so evidently immense, have awakened in him shame, confu-
sion, and self-abhorrence ? How deplorable must his reasons for
all this evil conduct have appeared ! How naturally must he
have called to mind that solemn declaration of the same Saviour,
often repeated to him on this side of the grave, " Because 1
have called, and ye refused, I have stretched out my hand, and
no man regarded ; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and
would none of my reproof: therefore I also will laugh at your
calamity, and mock when your fear cometh ; when your fear
Cometh as desolation, and your destruction as a whirlwind."
330 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. [SER. XXIJ.
On the contrary, with what emotions of joy has he mentioned,
if it was in his power to mention, the gift of " a cup of cold water,
to a disciple in the name of a disciple ;" a single faithful prayer,
humbly offered up to God in the name of Christ ; a^single union
with his fellow Christians in the public worship of his Maker ; a
single sincere commemoration of the dying love of the Redeem-
er. What comfort and courage has he found in remembering
that he faithfully confessed Christ before men ; and shewed that
he was " his disciple indeed, by doing all things, whatsoever he
hath commanded ?" With what satisfaction has he recollected,
that, while living in this world, he " did to others, that" which he
wished " others to do to him ;" that he was just in his dealings,
sincere in his declarations, and kind in his affections and conduct,
that he cheerfully forgave his enemies, supplied the wants of the
poor, and relieved the sufferings of the distressed ? How joyfully
must he have called to mind, in an especial manner, his offices of
love to the followers of Christ ; and rehearsed, that, when they
were " an hungered, he fed them ; when they were thirsty, he gave
them drink ; and when they were strangers, he took them in ?"
How different have been the things in which he rejoiced and
gloried, at this amazing interview, from those in which probably
he gloried at times, in the present world ? How little has he felt
inclined to speak of his estate ; his person ; his talents ; his ac-
complishments ; his honours ; his offices ; his hard bargains ; his
successful struggles against rivals ; and his agency in exciting
public discontent, turmoil, and trouble ?
What an account, before this awful Judge, would be the story
of a duel, fought by our deceased friend ; of the affront which
occasioned it, the resentment which penned the challenge, the
spirit which drove him to the field, and the frenzy which prompt-
ed him to cut off the life of a fellow creature in the midst of his
sins. What an appearance must the rehearsal make of a fortu-
nate intrigue ; a successful amour ; a gambling match ; a horse
race ; a swindling speculation ; a furious law suit ; a riotous de-
bauch ; the ruin of a neighbour ; the neglect, and corruption, of
a family ; a profane and dishonest covenant ; and a dissembling,
faithless ministry.
SER. XXir.] THE FINAL INTERVIEW. 33I
On the contrary, what must be the account of the exercises of
a humble, meek, patient, beheving, penitent, spirit, filled with
love to God and kindness to men.
4thly. He has heard the final sentence pronounced on himself.
At the close of this trial, he was declared to be a " good and
faithful," or an evil and " unprofitable, servant ;" and was re-
ceived, as being interested in the righteousness of Christ, to " the
inheritance of them that are sanctified ;" or rejected, as having
lived "without God" in this world, and died " without hope" in
the next. If he sustained the former character ; he was found
to have " been faithful over a few things ;" and appointed to
"rule over many things," and was welcomed " to the joy of his
Lord." If he had sustained the latter ; he was found to have
been useless and worthless, in the Kingdom of God ; and was
therefore " bound hand and foot, and cast into outer darkness,
where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth." This sentence
was pronounced in his hearing by the Judge ; and conveyed to
him endless happiness, or endless woe. It was final ; it was just :
for it was formed by infinite wisdom, goodness, and truth. The
Judge, who pronounced it, is perfectly qualified for this awful
employment ; for He has " searched the heart, and tried the
reins," of every inteUigent creature, from the beginning. With
an intuitive survey, he has seen every action of every such crea-
ture ; the circijiiistances, which attended that action ; the mo-
tives, views, and ends, with which it was performed ; together
with all its consequent aggravations, and palliations. These he
can bring up into one clear and perfect view ; settle in every case
the degree of guilt or worth, with unerring certainty; and ap-
portion with absolute exactness the allotted reward. From him,
also, there is no appeal. No future trial exists, at which the sen-
tence may be reversed. No Judge of superiour authority or skill
remains, before whom the cause may be heard anew.
Here, then, our departed friend has appeared, for the final set-
tlement of all his interests. He was not in question concerning
conduct, upon which were suspended the enjoyments of another
day : of another year ; or another such life, as the present. He
332 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. gSER. XXH.
was in question concerning his endless well-being. His all was
at stake. Himself was to be disposed of. Whatever good he
hoped for was to be established ; or whatever evil he dreaded to
be fixed beyond recall.
5thly. At the close of this interview he has gone to receive his
reward.
Of this affecting subject I shall only observe, that to the moral
character, the service, the life, and the allotment, which he chose
here, he will be sentenced there. If he chose the character of
hohness, the service of God, and the enjoyments of heaven, in
the present world ; he will forever serve God, practise holiness,
and enjoy the blessings of heaven, in the world to come. If he
loved and practised sin ; chose the service of Satan, and delight-
ed in the company of wicked men, here ; he is consigned to end-
less sin, the eternal service of Satan, and the perpetual company
of the wicked, in the future world. Thus his destiny will be the
result of his choice, and will exactly accord with that choice,
throughout eternity. In this respect, the reward, allotted to him,
exhibits the strongest appearance of the most exact and abso-
lute equity, on the part of God.
REMARKS.
No subject is more solemn, more awful, or more instructive,
than this. From the multitude of practical remarks, which it
naturally suggests to a serious mind, I shall, at the present time,
select the three following.
1st. These considerations teach us the pre-eminent wisdom of
doing that, and that only, here, which will give us support and
consolation when we appear at this trial.
All these things will then be present, real, and of the highest
importance to us. We shall then have arrived at the final deter-
mination of every interest, and every hope. This determination
will be founded entirely upon " the deeds, done in the body,
whether they have been good, or whether they have been evil."
On the decision of that day eternity will hang ; and that decision
SEK. XXII.3 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. 333
is suspended on the conduct of this hfe. No conduct, therefore,
can be esteemed useful, except that which will tlien be found use-
ful. Happily, it is now easy to know what this is, without any
danger of mistake. With the Bible in our hands, and its pre-
cepts in our minds, precepts easily acquired, and so far as this ob-
ject is concerned easily understood, remembered and applied,
we have only to ask with respect to any action, word, or thought :
" In what manner will this appear before the Judge of the quick
and dead V This question will at once satisfy any mind, willing
to be satisfied ; and resolve every doubt, not voluntarily retained.
In truth, the difficulty, found in regulating our conduct so as
to be ready for the final trial and a glorious reward, does not
lie in our ignorance of its nature ; but in our indisposition to pur-
sue it, when actually understood. To understand it seems easy
enough ; but to adopt it is usually a business of labour and strug-
gle. In order to overcome this reluctance, few things can so
powerfully contribute, as a clear, strong, habitual remembrance
of the affecting scenes which have now been presented to our
view. Can he, who thus knows and feels that his body will
soon go down to the grave, and his " spirit return to God, who
gave it ;" that he must then give an account of every work,
which his heart has contrived, and his hands wrought ; that he
shall then be acquitted or condemned, as these works shall have
been good or evil ; that, if acquitted, he will ascend to Heaven,
and enjoy endless happiness and glory ; and that, if condemned,
he will sink down to undying misery, remorse, and despair : can
this man fail to examine all his thoughts and all his actions, day by
day ? Can he fail to inquire with an anxious and prying eye,
whether they will be pleasing or displeasing to his judge ; wheth-
er they will ensure him a glorious reward, or a dreadful punish-
ment ? Must not eternity rise up continually to his view ; and
spread its amazing scenes to his eye, in unceasing and awful suc-
cession ? Must not " hell be naked before him, and destruction
have no covering ?" Will not the New Jerusalem appear to him
daily, " coming down from God out of heaven ;" and dawn upon
his ravished eyes with delightful and inexpressible splendour ?
Vol. II. 43
334 THE FINAL INTERVIEW. [SER. XXII.
Will he not see his former friends, the deceased Christians, wh >m
he loved, standing in the entrance ; pointing to him the path of
life; calling upon him to strive to "enter in at the straight gate;"'
stimulating his efforts ; encouraging his progress ; and waiting to
renew their joy over his repentance? Must not the Redeemer of
men stand ever in his sight ? Must he not see his wounds open :
his blood poured out ; and his life terminating with agony ; that
he himself might live ? Can he fail to hear the voice of this di-
vine and compassionate Saviour, calling to him with the yearn-
ings of infinite love, " Ho ! every one that thirsteth ! Come ye
to the waters : and he that hath no money : come ye ; buy and
eat ; yea come ; buy wine and milk, without money and without
price ?" Can he forget how transporting it will be humbly to
declare, when summoned to the judgment, in the presence of
the Son of God, "Lord thou deliveredst unto me five talents.
Behold, I have gained, beside them, five talents more :" or how
ravishing to hear him reply, " Well done, good and faithful ser-
vant ! Thou hast been faithful over a few things : I will make
thee ruler over many things. Enter thou into the joy of thy
Lord?"
How delightful will it then be to have believed in this great
Judge of angels and men ; this beloved Son of God ; this infi-
nitely benevolent Saviour? How delightful to have walked
blamelessly in all his commandments and ordinances ; and to
have had " the same mind, which was also in" him ! How sup-
porting, on that solemn day, to have " loved God with all the
heart, and our neighbour as ourselves ;" to have continued pa-
tiently in all " well doing ;" and thus to have sought effectually
" for glory, honour, and immortality !" How honourable to have
worn the image of God ; and to be able to display this divine re-
semblance, as unquestionable proof of our relation to him ; as
acknowledged evidence, that we are " sons and daughters to the
Lord Almighty !" What emotions must the final sentence of
approbation excite in our own minds, when pronounced on us !
At the same time how dreadful a reverse will a reproaching,
angry conscience, a frowning Judge, and a final rejection ; erf-
SER. XXII.] THE FINAL INTERVIEW. 335
ate in a mind hurried, convulsed with guilt, and overwhelmed by
despair ? How will the self-ruined, friendless, hopeless, apostate
feel, when he sees the time arrived ; the trial finished ; the sen-
tence declared; and himself driven away to receive the terrible
reward 1
Of what value will the scriptures then seem to have been ? Of
what value the Sabbath; the Sanctuary ; the privileges of pray-
er, self-examination, the conversation and example of good men,
and all the means of salvation ? How much to be prized that
little life, on which eternity and its mighty interests were sus-
pended ? How wise will it then appear to have hated sin ; to
have shunned temptation ; and to have resisted the fascinations
of riches and honour, power and pleasure ?
How soon will all these solemn things arrive ? Even now they
are at the door. A few days will bring them to every member of
this assembly. How plainly ought they to be esteemed of the
same inestimable importance to us, this day, which they will be
seen to wear beyond the grave ?
2dly. How interesting, how amazing, will all eternal things
then appear ?
Death, the Judgment, Hell and its sufferings. Heaven and its
endless rewards, the awful anger of God, his glorious mercy and
unchangeable love : all these things will then become real, pres-
ent ; and will affect the imagination as deeply, as if they were
now present ; and reach the heart in spite of its stupidity and
sin. They will terrify and oppress the soul with all the sufferings
of perdition ; or delight it with the possession of life begun, hap-
piness realized, and glory already enjoyed. These will then be
our all. The present world will then have retreated forever from
our view. Time will have numbered all its hours ; and emptied
its glass of all its remaining sands. The vast world to which we
are going, will have opened its boundless prospects ; its everlast-
ing enjoyments and sufferings. The day will then have dawned,
to which no evening will ever arrive. The system of dispensa-
tions will then have commenced to which there can be no con-
clusion. What a prospect will this be ! What a progress of be-
336 ^W£ FINAL INTERVIEW. [SER. XXII.
ing ! What a series of blessings ! Or what a succession of woes !
What will it then be to find God disclosing himself to us with
smiles of approbation, and with favour which will brighten for-
ever towards supreme and meridian glory ?
What will it be on the contrary, to find the same God " a con-
suming fire," kindled for eternity, and destroying finally all the
workers of iniquity ? How terrible will it be to " awake" only
" to shame and everlasting contempt ;" to see all amiableness
and honour, happiness and hope, retiring from our sight ; to be-
hold ourselves forever guilty, despised, and abhorred ; to sink un-
der a consciousness of our debased character ; and, casting a
despairing eye over the melancholy world of darkness, to discern
nothing but " mourning, lamentation," and " woe," without mix-
ture, and without end ?
3dly. Hoiv strange is it, that the deaths of others do not com-
pel us to lay to heart the end of all Vwing ?
Others have lived, as we now live ; have sinned, just as we now
sin ; and, like us, have resolved to repent, and reform, and live
forever. They still loved the pleasures of sin ; and determined
to enjoy them for a season ; at the end of which they intended
to begin their Hves anew. But this season began, to last forever.
No to-morrow of repentance followed their day of present sin.
Ever near to the intentional penitent, it was ever one day before
him, until it vanished in eternity. With it, the repentance, which
it seemed to bear on its wings, vanished also ; and vanished, to
appear no more.
All these persons hold out to us an exact picture of ourselves,
while travelhng onward in the bewildered path of intentional re-
pentance and reformation. They have now finished their connec-
tion with time, and sense ; with the pleasures which they loved,
and the sins which they " rolled as sweet morsels under their
tongues." With these, they have also terminated their proba-
tion, and their enjoyment of the Means of Grace. Where are
they now ? What are now their views of the conduct, which
they pursued in the present world ? What, if they were permit-
ted to return, would probably be their language to us ?
SER. XXll.] THE FINAL INTERVIEW. :j37
" Poor, unhappy, deluded mortals ;"" would they not say ?
" murk our conduct ; and consider our end. We, like you, were
once probationers for endless life ; were trained up in religion,
and educated for everlasting joy. All the nneans and hopes, fur-
nished by the Grace of God, were put into our hands. Like you,
we were blessed with the word of God, and the news of salvation,
by a crucified Redeemer ! The Sabbath weekly dawned upon
us with the smiles of love. The Sanctuary opened the doors of
peace and praise, of prayer and faith, of repentance and holiness ;
and invited us to enter in, and be saved. We heard the calls of
mercy ; the voice of a pardoning God, a dying Saviour, a hea-
venly Comforter, reproving us for our sins, and charming us with
divine wisdom to return and live. To return we always intend-
ed ; but found no opportunity : and were ourselves never ready
to begin this indispensable work. The pleasures of sense fascin-
ated our hearts : and we found nothing in repentance to engage
our affections, or invite our efforts. The day fled ; and with it
fled every call, and every hope. The night came, to which no
day of grace ever succeeded. Our end will be yours. Like us
you live : like us you will die : and O like us you are preparing
to die forever '"
SERMON XXIII.
eONSIDERATIONS ON THE FINAL TRIAL.— Sermon 1.
EccLESiASTES xii. 14.
For God shall bring every work into judgment, with every se-
cret thing, whether it be good, or ivhether it be evil.
This verse is the conclusion of one of the most extraordinary
books, which the world has ever seen. The writer, the subject,
and the mode of discussion, are all of a remarkable character.
The writer was the wisest of all men ; the subject is the supreme
good of man ; and the mode of discussion is solemn, impres-
sive, and happy, without a parallel.
No man was ever so fitted to examine this subject. It is hard-
ly necessary, to observe that the question, In what consists the su-
preme good ? has been almost endlessly discussed by a great va-
riety of ingenious writers, of most ages and countries, distin-
guished for illumination. The question has been answered in a
vast multitude of ways. Varro informs us, that, within his knowl-
edge, philosophers had adopted concerning this subject no less
than two hundred and eighty-eight different opinions. Among
these, some placed it in quiet of mind ; others in rest of the body ;
some in knowledge ; others in wealth ; some in reputation ; oth-
ers in what is appropriately called pleasure ; and others, still, in
a great variety of other objects. The most prominent of these
opinions are examined in this book ; and in the most satisfactory
manner refuted. For this employment Solomon was not only fit-
ted by his peculiar wisdom, his extensive acquaintance with the
affairs of the present life, and his enlarged views of the doctrines
and duties of religion, but by his own experience also; No man
SER. XXIII.] CONSIDERATIONS ON THE FINAL TRIAL. 339
ever had such an expeiimenta! acquaintance with the objects and
pleasures of science, taste, sense, imagination, refinement, ambi-
tion, avarice, and rehgion, united. At the same time he was
perfectly disposed and qualified to enjoy all these pleasures. It
is truly said of him, nay he says of himself, that he " withheld
not his heart from any joy." Thus, whether he speaks of the
aftairs of this world or that to come, the pleasures of sense or the
enjoyments of religion, he speaks, as far as this can be done by
an inhabitant of earth, from personal experience. His observa-
tions therefore have a weight, his opinions an authority, which
cannot be claimed by those of any other man. They are the opin-
ions of one, who had more power, than could be challenged at
that time by any other inhabitant of the earth. His wisdom,
fame, wealth, and all other sources of sensual enjoyment, have
never been rivalled. Nor were his attainments in Religion small.
We may well wonder indeed, that in these circumstances he should
be religious at all. Yet we are informed by Nehemiah, that
" among many nations there was no king like him, who was be-
loved of his God."
After Solomon has gone through an extensive consideration of
the various branches of this important subject, he gives us the
result of all these investigations in form. " Let us hear," says
he, " the conclusion of the whole matter ;" or, in Hodgson\s
more exact translation, " Let us hear the substance of all that
has been said. Fear God, and keep his commandments: for
this is all that concerneth man." To this infinitely important
declaration the text is subjoined, as a proof of its truth which
cannot be questioned ; and as a reason, to enforce its importance
on the mind, which cannot be resisted, except by voluntary blind-
ness and hardness of heart.
In this passage the word " Work" obviously denotes the overt
conduct of man, his words, and actions. The phrase " secret
thing" intends the thoughts, and affections of the heart. Or
Wo7'ks may with propriety indicate that, ivhich is said, and done,
before mankind / and secret things, that, tt-hich is done where oth-
ers neither see, nor hear ; whether in the heart, in darkness, or
340 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIIi
in solitude. According to either mode of explanation the phrase I
ology includes every thing, which we think, speak, or do. Al |
this, the text informs us, " God will bring into judgment."
With this explanation, the Doctrine, contained in the text, i
as clearly and forcibly declared, as it can be. My intention in
choosing the passage as the theme of discourse, at the present;
time, is to derive from it the following plain, practical, solemn
Remarks.
1 St. How unprepared arc IFe, in all prohahility, for this dis-
closure of our characters.
Every child of Adam has, probably, done many things, which
he would not have known, for any consideration, to his fellow
creatures. Not a small number of these no motive would per-
suade him to discover to his nearest and best friends ; to those who
would regard him with the greatest tenderness, and cast the most
indulgent eye upon his failings. Look into your hearts ; and
see whether there are not many such things which have been
done by you, every year, every month, every week, nay some, at
least, every day. Of these there are in all probability some,
which, if they were to be disclosed to mankind, or even to an
individual friend, would overwhelm us with shame, dismay, and
anguish. How many are there, think you, in this assembly, who
would not shrink and tremble if they were compelled publicly to
utter their impious thoughts of God ; their unkind, envious, and
ungrateful, their false, and fraudulent, feelings towards their fel-
low men ; or their impure indulgences of a licentious imagina-
tion, and a corrupted heart ? Where is the face of bronze, that
would not turn pale at this disclosure ; or the heart of marble,
that would not dissolve beneath the eyes of those to whom it was
made ? Would not the character be blasted ; would not the
hopes wither ; at the very commencement of the melancholy
tale?
How many of these thoughts have been such, as we have nev-
er dared to speak? How many of them, designs, which we should
have shuddered to execute ? Nay, how many of the words which
we have spoken, and of the designs which we have executed,
SER. XXIII.] THE FINAL TRIAL. 34 j
■ have been in our own view so guilty and so shameful, that the
^ only peace, which we can find when remembering them, is deri-
|f red fiom that miserable refuge of sin ; that they are known only
'■: to ourselves ? Were we to be informed, that a disclosure of them
was about to be made ; would not the information probably put
an end to our peace forever ?
But if it would be distressing to a degree not easily compre-
hensible, to have these things known even to our friends, how
much greater would be our anguish to have them known to man-
kind ? What, then, must be our emotions, were they to be pub-
lished to the assembled universe ? What a triumph will it be to
fiends, to see the race of Adam^ and ourselves perhaps equally
with others, holden up before all Intelligent beings in so odious,
shameful, and humbling a light? How must good men feel for
themselves ; and weep for others ? If angels can weep ; must
not their tears fall over such a recital ?
Above all things, how dreadful must it be to have this disclo-
sure made before the eternal God ; to have all our secret as well
as open sins " set in the light of his countenance," and in this
noonday splendour placed in order before our eyes. Infinitely
more important to us will His views of our character be than
those of all other beings united. Proportionally overwhelming
will it be to see, and know, and feel, that our whole character is
naked before him, and our sins without a covering.
In addition to all these distresses, we ourselves shall he compel-
led to make this humiliating disclosure. " Every one of us,"
says St. Paul, " shall give account of himself to God." This
discovery of our character would be terrible, if the facts were all
recorded in a book, and read over in our hearing. How much
more distressing must it be for the unhappy culprit to rehearse
his own sins before " the Judge of the quick and the dead ?"
Whose hps would not tremble, whose heart would not rend asun-
der, when summoned to such a task as this ? Who would not
stand aghast, when he saw the multitude of his own crimes ; and
marked their black and dreadful die ? How could his tongue be-
gin the terrible recital ? Where and when could it end ?
' Vol. n. 44
342 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIII
But the one half of this distress is not yet told. On this dis
closure our final sentence, our everlasting reward, will be found
ed. " We must appear," says St. Paul, " before the judgmeni
seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in his
body, according to what he hath done, whether it be good, or
bad." (II. Cor. v. 10.) Of all the anguish suffered on this side
of perdition, none will be so excruciating as that which will be
excited in the soul of a sinner by his account of his own sins ;
given with a full conviction, that from that very account will pro-
ceed the sentence which will condemn him to eternal woe. On
this tremendous occasion how will the best of men need to be
supported and encouraged, when presenting before their Judge
the innumerable evils which even they have committed ? How
deeply will they, feel their necessity for the all-cleansing blood of
the Redeemer, to change their crimson into white ?
Should, then, the judgment be set ; and the books, out of which
mankind " will be judged according to their works," be opened
this day ; is it not plain to every person in this assembly, that he
is very unhappily prepared for such an exhibition of his character ?
2dly. What a mighty change will then be made in the state of
men.
In this world mankind have agreed upon certain principles ;
according to which they estimate the characters of their fellow
men, and yield their applause, or distribute their censures. Those
who are rich, who are in high offices, or of great influence; men
of genius, learning, and eloquence ; the splendid, the beautiful,
and the polished ; the brave, and the powerful ; are regularly the
objects of admiration and praise. The poor, on the contrary,
the weak, the defenceless, the dependant, the unpohshed, and
•the ignorant, are neglected, despised, and forgotten.
But there a far different mode of estimating characters will be
adopted. There all will be tried by the great rule of good and
evil, friendship to God and enmity, faith in the Redeemer and
unbelief.
To have been good, here, will, be to be happy there ; to be
rich, honourable, and beloved. To have been evil, here, will be
SER. XXIII.l THE FINAL TRIAL. 343
to be poor, despised, miserable, "and in want of all things," there, j
It will never be asked, there, whether the person, who is a candi-
date for shame or honour, punishment or reward, was born in a
palace or a cottage ; sat on a throne, or a stool ; owned a rood or
a province ; was learned or ignorant, eloquent or dumb. It will ,
only be asked whether he employed such powers and means as
were given to him, for the glory of God, and the good of his fel-
low men.
It will not be asked whether he was brave, but whether he was
meek ; not whether he was renowned, but whether he was hum-
ble ; not whether he was opulent, but whether he was " rich in
faith and good works ;" not whether he acquired applause and
glory, but whether he diligently promoted the piety and the hap-
piness of his fellow men.
From this new standard of estimation mankind will be divided
into classes, totally different from those which exist in the present
world. Multitudes of the rich, the great, the learned, the pol-
ished, and the renowned ; will appear on the left hand, in shame,
and want, and woe, inexpressible. Multitudes, at the same time,
of the poor, the humble and the despised, will appear on the
right hand, invested with glory ^ honour^ and immortality. You
are not however to understand, because it is not true, that the
possession of wealth, power, refinement, learning, and distinc-
tion, in this world, will, in that, be considered as a crime ; or be-
come to any man the foundation of future shame and punish-
ment. It will not be the possession of these things, but the man-
ner in which they were desired, sought, or used, which will prove
the source of condemnation to the guilty possessors. Multitudes
of the rich, the great, and the polished, will find their " names
written in the Lamb's book of life ;" and be received with " an open
and abundance entrance" into the favor of God. Still it will be
seen in a terrible manner, that those, who here would be rich, fell
almost of course " into temptation and a snare," and " into ma-
ny hurtful and corrupt lusts, which drowned" them " in destruc-
tion and perdition." Yet it will be found that some of this num-
ber " trusted not in uncertain riches, but in the living God ; that
344 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIII.
they did good," and were " rich in good works ;" were " ready
to distribute and willing to communicate ;" and tiiat thus they
" laid up in store for themselves a good foundation against the
time to come, and laid hold on eternal life." On the contrary
poverty, ignorance, and degradation, in this world, will constitute
no part of the reasons for which those, who have suffered these
things, will be accepted in that. They will be accepted, because
they have been " poor in spirit ;" because they have been humble
followers of the Redeemer ; because they have loved and served
God : Those, who have not done these things, however degraded
and beggared in this world will at the final day sink into poverty
and wretchedness, inconceivably more distresssing.
From this mode of estimating characters, also, most afflicting
distinctions will be made among those who have lived in the same
condition, the same circumstances, the same neighbourhood, the
same house ; who have been members of the same congregation,
the same class, the same family. Of all these " one will be taken,
and another left." When David smote Moab, " he measured
them with a line, casting them down to the ground. With two
lines measured he, to. put to death, and with one full line to keep
alive." A process, in effect resembling this awful procedure,
will be adopted at the final day. Persons, united by the tender-
est ties of life and the strongest bonds of affection, will there be
separated forever. Eli will no more be united to his sons ; nor
Samuel to his. David will be finally separated from Amnon and
Absalom ; Hezekiah from Ahaz ,• and Jusiah from Ainon. These,
melancholy to think, are not exempt cases. They are not even
extraordinary. The nearest friends now, as truly as then, and
probably as often, will be sundered in this manner. Which of
those, who are before me, intends at this awful season to see his
companions and classmates on the right hand, arrayed in immor-
tal glory, and to take his own miserable station on the left ?
What brother is prepared in this manner to part from his beloved
brothers ? What sister, regarded here with intense affection,
will be able to open her hps, and pronounce to her sisters the
eternal farewell ? What parents can sustain even the thought,
SER. XXIIL] THE FINAL TRIAL. 345
that between themselves and their children, what children, that
between them and their parents, a gulf w'lW now he fixed, which
neither " will be able to pass" forever. When this terrible dis-
tinction shall be made, what will be the looks, mutually cast by
the affectionate husband and wife ; what the throes, which will
agonize their bosoms ?
Even these are not the only separations w^hich will be made.
This dreadful discrimination will be extended also to those, who
have worshipped in the same house of God ; communed at the
same sacramental table ; and preached in the same desk. Judas
and Peter were commissioned to preach by the Saviour himself.
Where are they now? What separations have probably been
made in the members of the church at Cor'mtli ? How melan-
choly a thought, that these have been repeated in every church
which has existed, from that period to the present hour ? What
solemn impressions ought this awful consideration to make upon
our hearts, when we enter the desk, or sit down at the table of
Christ ?
When this new standard of character shall be made the great
rule of distinction, strange separations will also be made in the
various classes or sects, who have worn the name, and professed
the religion, of Christians. Such sects, here, are often inclined
to challenge the Christian character exclusively to themselves.
All, who differ from them in name, or forms of worship, some
sects have considered as doubtful candidates for eternal life :
while others have put them without the covenant of grace, and
beyond the hope of salvation. This assumption of exclusive rec-
titude, this separate claim to the divine favour, this substantial ex-
communication of those who differ from us, is probably as old as
the distinctions of character, which furnished an opportunity for
forming these opinions. Among the Jews, who were called to be
" a chosen and peculiar people unto God," this character existed
and operated with its full force ; and with better reasons to justi-
fy it, than can be alleged by any other class of men. They were
informed by Inspiration itself, that they were separated from all
nations, as the favourite people of Jehovah ; and that they were
346 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIIJ.
the seed of Abraham, his friend. The rest of mankind, they
knew, were almost universally idolaters, " in the gall of bitter-
ness, and the bond of iniquity."
But John the Baptist informed them, that they must not " think
to say within themselves, 'We have Abraham for our father;' "
and that " God was able of the stones to raise up children unto
Abraham." Christ, also, told them, that they should " weep, and
gnash their teeth, when they saw Abraham, and Isaac, and Ja-
cob, and all the prophets, sit down in the kingdom of God, and
themselves thrust out ; that many should come from the east and
the west, from the north and the south, and sit down in the king-
dom of God ;" and that " there were last, who should be first,
and first, who should be last."
St. Peter, whose prejudices against the Gentiles were the ?ame
with those of his countrymen, was taught the groundless nature
of this opinion by the miracle of " the vessel, resembhng a great
sheet," which was " let down to him." From this vision he first
began to learn, that " whatever God had cleansed was clean."
Accordingly he solemnly renounced his former prejudices on this
subject ; and declared, as the Scriptures of the Old Testament
had long before done, that " God is no respecter of persons ;"
and " that in every nation he who worketh righteousness will be
accepted."
It is a melancholy subject of reflection, that, with the Gospel
in our hands, we should be unwilling to adopt the same equitable
rule, as the standard of acceptance with God ; and that we should
still think it enough to have Abraham for our father. That both
these things are extensively done cannot with decency be denied.
Multitudes, plainly build their hopes on a foundation of this san-
dy nature : while other multitudes, as well as they, are scarcely
willing to think favourably of those, who in things, which the
Scriptures regard as unessential to the Christian character and
justification of life, differ from themselves.
But " in the day when God shall judge the secrets of men," he
will judge the world according to his own rule, and not according
to ours. Then he, who is found to have believed on the Lord
SER. XXIII.] THE FINAL TRIAL, 347
Jesus Christ, will be saved ; in whatever church he has been bap-
tized, or has worshipped. Nay, if with the thief on the cross he
has not had an opportunity of being baptized at all, his soul will
still be found with Christ in Paradise.
How vast, then, will be the difference, made among mankind
by the righteous judgment of God, from that which is made by
us ? How surprisingly will their characters, circumstances, and
allotments, vary from those which have been formed in our pre-
conceptions ? What multitudes of grave, decent men, who have
confidently expected salvation from the numbers, splendour, and
dignity, of the churches, to which they have been united, and
their regular performance of the worship and duties prescribed by
them, will find that all this "bodily exercise" has " profited them
little;" and that "godHness" only, "has the promise of the life
which is to come V On the contrary, what vast numbers of zeal-
ous enthusiasts, who here condemn all others as heretics and out-
casts, who do not unite with them in their wild rhapsodies, and
profess the same internal light and extraordinary communica-
tions, from heaven, will find their zeal "a fire of their own kind-
ling ;" and, notwithstanding their high hopes and magnificent
promises of life beyond the grave, will lie down in sorrow.^ How
many of every class, name, and profession, who have relied on
the peculiarities of their class, their name, and their profession,
will find these things wood, hay, and stubble ? How many individ-
uals, who unchurch their neighbours because they differ from
them in opinions of comparatively little moment, or even in man-
ners, nay in dress, will at this great disclosure see them shine
forth as real Christians, and themselves detected as mere preten-
ders, possessing only the hope of the hypocrite ?
Sdly. At this solemn period the difference between the right-
eous and the wicked will be seen to be far greater, than is common-
ly believed in the present world.
In this world the external appearance of the righteous and the
wicked is often nearly the same. Evil men often labour with
great pains to acquire reputation by assuming the character
and conduct of the virtuous ; and in many instances with success.
348 CONSIDARATIONS ON [SER. XXIIf.
Their vice is extensively concealed from the public eye, and not
unfrequently from the eye of their friends. Judas was believed
by his fellow apostles not only to be a real, but an eminent, chris-
tian. When Christ predicted, that one of the number should
betray him ; all his companions distrusted themselves rather than
Judas ; and every one said, " Lord, Is it I? Lord Is it I ?""
Hypocrisy is, as is said by the great English poet, " The only
evil, which walks unseen by all but the eye of God." No human
optics can pierce through the thick covering, spread by skilful
hypocrisy, as a shroud of darkness, over its designs. No saga-
city can trace the windings, the hidden paths, the insidious meas-
ures, of this snaky agent.
Beyond this, in cases where no peculiar hypocrisy is exerted
or intended, there are innumerable causes of concealment and
illusion, which prevent us from knowing, in many respects, the
real character of multitudes around us. The character even of
neighbouring families, their peculiar interests, their internal pur-
suits, and the disposition of their several members manifested in
those pursuits ; are often chiefly unknown by us, and widely mis-
taken. A servant, who comes from another family to live in our
own, will not unfrequently force upon us, however disposed to
construe charitably, or indisposed to hsten to the tale, various
apprehensions concerning that family, which we never entertain-
ed before. Not unfrequently we ourselves become members of
such families. In such cases we find them, in some instances at
least, to possess, in several respects, a character widely different
from that which they had before exhibited or we mistrusted.
Individuals also, even those with whom we live in habits of
intimacy, often conceal from us much of their real character.
We sometimes love them long, and esteem Ihem highly ; and
find afterwards that they had no claims either to be loved or es-
teemed. We trust those, who after long-continued familiarity
deceive us. We respect those, who ultimately become objects
of our contempt. We befriend those, who, after receiving from
us a numerous train of kind offices, requite us with ingratitude. '
How often do we hear our fellow men say, how often do we say
SER. XXIII.] THE FINAL TRIAL. 349
ourselves, when some mean, base, dishonest action is rehearsed
concerning a person of our acquaintance, some ungenerous ex-
hibition of covetousness, some gross act of unkindness, some
treachery to a friend, some sordid specimen of pride or ambi-
tion, " I am greatly disappointed in that man. I could not have
thought, that he would be guilty of such an action." The voice
of Omniscience has declared, and it ought never to be forgotten
by us, that " the heart," the heart of man, the heart of ourselves
and of all others, " is deceitful above all things, and desperately
wicked. Who can know it ?"
From this hypocrisy, this concealment of character, springs
that extensive jealousy, which is entertained by mankind respect-
ing each other. From being often deceived we learn to dis-
trust ; and ultimately to distrust almost all men ; even neighbours
and friends, ministers and magistrates. From this cause the very
best of our race ; those who have given the most decisive proofs
of integrity and piety ; are still doubted by multitudes. Nay it
still remains a question with some, whether there are any real
Christians ; any persons of genuine piety. Worldly men often
deny the fact altogether. Even Christians are not unfrequently
doubtful of their fellow Christians.
I readily acknowledge, that mankind are unreasonably dispo-
sed to jealousy ; and that jealousy is an unreasonable passion.
Still it cannot be rationally believed, that, if hypocrisy were un-
known ; and deceit unpractised ; jealousy, such as this, would
ind a place in the human bosom.
It ought here to be added, that genuine Christianity from its
own nature " vaunteth not herself, and is not puffed up." Chris-
tianity unaccompanied by foreign appendages, is always modest,
anassuming and self-denying. Boasting, we have long since
jeen told " is excluded by the law of faith. The kingdom of
GrOD in the heart cometh not with observation ;" and none are
iisposed to say concerning it, " Lo here," or " lo there." Hence
he Christian, uninclined to make a display of his excellence, and
nore willing to be, than to seem, religious, rarely becomes an
)bject of very favourable inspection to mankind ; and not unfre-
VoL. If. 45
350 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIIi.
quently sees his true character unknown, as well as unacknowl-
edged. The HyjDocrite, at the same time, is always employed in
soliciting for himself the character of a Christian. Hence, when
a weak man, he makes a perpetual parade of his discoveries, his
gifts, and his attainments. When a sagacious man, he discerns
that this bald exhibition must disappoint itself; and resorts, there-
fore, to measures less exposed to scrutiny : and these are often
so well devised, so specious, so like the humble, meek, and gen-
tle, character of Christianity, as to pass usually without suspicion.
But, when " the secrets of all hearts shall be revealed," these
fetches and concealments, these pretences and resemblances,
will entirely vanish. The Hypocrite, the merely decent professor
of Christianity, will stand forth in all his native deformity ; and
will be seen as he is ; a gross and dreadful sinner. His hypocri-
sy will only render him more guilty and more odious, more abom-
inable in the sight of God and more despicable in that of the
virtuous universe.
At this time, the " meek and lowly" Christian will appear more
excellent and amiable by means of his former modest, self-deny-
ing deportment. He will now be acknowledged before the as-
sembled universe as the friend of God and of man ; as the follow-
er of Christ ; as voluntarily consecrated to the great cause of
truth and of righteousness. As such, Christ will not be ashamed
to receive and confess him ; and will on the best grounds wel- i
come him to his arms, his kingdom, and his blessings : While at
the same time, and with equal propriety, he will say to all those,
who have merely assumed the character, as a cloak for their sin-
ister and base designs, " Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire,
prepared for the devil and his angels."
Among the things, which will pre-eminently contribute to make
this separation clear, and this contrast incalculably impressive,
this will be one : Mankind, nay the whole Intelligent universe,
will be forced to see the immeasurahle distance between truth and
falsehood^ holiness and sin. In the present world this difference
is often denied ; often considered as insignificant ; and usually]
feebly felt and dimly perceived.
SER. XXIII.] THE FINAL TRIAL. 351
Than these no opinions can be more groundless, false, and un-
happy. Between the objects in question the difference is infinite.
The love of truth and holiness on the one hand, and the love of
falsehood and sin on the other, constitute the whole moral dis-
tinction between Gabriel and Satan, between Paul and Judas.
Nay the love of truth and holiness forms the whole moral beauty
and greatness of Jehovah ; and constitutes the boundless differ-
ence between his infinitely perfect character, and that of a being
equally powerful and immensely malevolent. Truth obeyed, and
holiness practised, are the cause and the amount of the celestial
glory. They form heaven : they create the angehc character :
they will generate throughout eternity the endlessly progressive
happiness of the Intelligent universe. Falsehood obeyed, and
sin pursued, would make the universe eternally miserable ; and
will in fact produce, to a great extent, the misery of hell. This
immense difference will now be seen in a full, overwhelming
light : and so different will appear the characters of the friends
and the enemies of God. In the language of the prophet Mala-
chi^ Mankind " will return, and discern between the righteous and
the wicked, between him that serveth God, and him that serveth
him not." But " a book of remembrance" will be found for
J " those, who feared the Lord, and thought upon his name. ' And
they shall be mine,' saith the Lord of Hosts, ' in the day when I
make up my jewels ; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his
I own son that serveth him.'"
SERMON XXIV.
CONSIDERATIONS ON THE FINAL TRIAL.— Sermon II.
ECCLESIASTES xii. 14.
For God shall bring every work into judgment^ with every secret
thing., whether it he good., or whether it be evil.
In the former part of this discourse, after explaining the text, I
proposed to derive from the doctrine which it contains, several
observations. Of these I mentioned the following : —
1st. How iinprei)aj'cd are we., in all probability , for the disclo-
sure of our characters., indicated in this passage of Scripture.
2dly. What a mighty_ cliange icill, in consequence of this dis-
closure, be made in the state of men.
3dly. On the solemn day when this disclosure shall be made^l
the difference between the righteous and the wicked will be seem
to be far greater, than is commonly believed in the present world.
I will now proceed to finish the design, with which I selected
this passage of Scripture, as the theme of our meditations at the "J^
present time, and observe,
4thly. That our own character will appear to us widely differ- 1
entfrom what we have been accustomed to believe it in the present f
world.
Every person, who has read the Bible with any attention, must
have remarked that it presents very different views of the human
character from those which we and our fellow men are ready to
entertain. Every such person must have perceived, that man is
there exhibited as far more sinful than he has been accustomed
to imagine. Probably, very few have risen from reading the two
first chapters of the epistle to the /Romans, without feeling that
SER. XXIV.] CONSIDERATIONS ON THE FINAL TRIAL. 353
they present views of human nature far more gross, odious, and
humihating, than they can easily admit to be just. Particularly,
there are few who do not secretly refuse to apply this description
of the human character to themselves, and rejoice that it is not
their own character. I do not intend, that we rejoice because
we are not heathen and idolaters; or because we are not Jews
and reprobates ; but because we have not the same sinful nature,
that gave birth to the several gross crimes, which form this pain-
ful description of man as a moral being.
When we read in the prophet Jeremiah^ this declaration ; " The
heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked ; Who
can know it ?" we are rarely willing, though it is uttered by God
himself, to believe it true in its full import, even concerning our
fellow-men. Much less are we ready to mistrust, that our own
hearts are thus deceitful, and thus wicked.
Few employments can be more useful, or more necessary, for
such beings as we are, than to inquire why our views of this sub-
ject differ so widely from the views of Him, " who searcheth the
hearts, and trieth the reins of the children of men." That his
must be right ; that ours, so far as they differ from his, must be
wrong ; can need neither proof nor explanation. Nor is it less
evident that, whenever our apprehensions of a subject, so impor-
tant, and so practical, are wrong, they must be injurious, and may
be fatal.
Among the reasons which lead us to false views of our own
character, the following deserve our very serious attention.
First. We are so accustomed to the perpetration of iniquity,
that we often sin without being conscious of it, even at the time of
transgressing.
To commit sin is, with us, a thing of course ; a thing done by
all men every day, and by most, every hour, and every moment.
It enters into all our habits of thinking and acting ; and, in unre-
newed men, is the sum and substance of every moral habit. Even
renewed men sin incomparably oftener than they are ready to
believe. But, whatever is thus habitual, and therefore continual,
naturally ceases to be an object of particular attention ; and, to
a great extent, of any attention at all.
354 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIV.
Besides, to attend critically every moment is altogether too
wearisome an employment to beings, who are subjects of so
much sloth of mind as men. Few persons, comparatively, are
willing to attend critically, at all. Fewer, by far, can bring them-
selves to undergo so much mental labour as is involved in that
perpetual attention, which is absolutely necessary to make us ac-
quainted either with our hearts, or with our lives.
Further, we rarely attend minutely to objects which give us
pain ; unless when we cannot avoid it. Our moral character is
always a painful object to us, so far as we either are, or believe
ourselves to be, sinful. Self-examination is terrible to wicked
men ; and is rarely taken up in such a manner as to be of any
use to them, whenever they can find a way to escape : and, un-
happily, an escape is almost always in their power.
In addition to all this, we form at very early periods of hfe such
favourable opinions of our character, as persuade us that it is un-
necessary to undergo this labour and pain ; and therefore feel
justified in neglecting to scrutinize our conduct.
Finally, we form such gross conceptions of the divine law, of
its extent, spirituality, exactness, and perfection ; and thus possess
such apprehensions of what it requires, and what it prohibits ;
that we are v^ry often ignorant of the true nature of our moral
conduct. The commandment does not come to us, as it did to
Paul ; and therefore we do not see our sins, as he saw his.
Hence, as our moral standard is very low, (far lower than that of
the Gospel,) we sin, without mistrusting, that we sin ; not ima-
gining, that such things as we do, are forbidden, or that such as
we omit, are required by the commands of God.
From all these causes it comes to pass, that we commit innu-
merable sins of which we have little or no knowledge, or even
suspicion, at the very time when they are committed. Of course,
none of these ever enter into the estimate which we form of our
moral character.
Secondly. We think so lightly of the guilt of sin, that we never
mistrust the greattiess of our own guilt in those sins which we
ftre conscious of committing.
SER. XXIV.] THE FINAL TRIAL. 355
One of the most difficult attempts of man, is to adopt, without
any diminution, those representations which are made concern-
ing the guilt of sin in the Scriptures. It is with vast reluctance,
that he can believe himself to be so " abominable and filthy" in
the sight of God, notwithstanding " he drinks iniquity like water."
This, also, is a fruitful source of unwarrantably favourable esti-
mates concerning our character.
Thirdly. As we never think ill of ourselves nnlcss ivhen com-
pelled^ and as, then, we believe ourselves to be vile and guilty,
only with extreme reluctance, mortification, and regret ; so, of
choice, we thrust out of our remembrance as many of our trans-
gressions, as we can.
This is an employment, in which we are but too successful. In
the progress of it we are able to forget, and do actually forget, a
great multitude of the evils which we have perpetrated.
Fourthly. For the same reason we palliate and lessen, the real
guilt of such sins, as we are conscious of committing ; and hence
th{nkfar less hardly and less justly of our sinfid character, than
truth requires.
How often do we hear others excuse their sins by ascribing
them to their infirmities, temptations, and the difficulties which
stand in the way of their duty. How often have we alleged the
same difficulties, as excuses for our own. These pleas are made
by very gross transgressors. The profane swearer says, and in-
tends materially to lessen his guilt, both in his own eyes and ourSy
while he says, that he cannot avoid swearing profanely. The
drunkard pleads his invincible attachment to strong drink. The
lewd man tells you, that his inclinations are natural ; and the re-
vengeful man, that his wrath is too violent and painful, to be
subdued. All these persuade themselves, and hope to persuade
others, that they are at least partially, if not absolutely, justified.
In a similar manner, sinners of every description have their excu-
ses ; which, they believe, will render them in some good measure
innocent.
Fifthly. We see others sin ; and from their example and num-
ber persuade ourselves, that we are far less guilty than ive really
are.
356 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIV.
That others are as bad or worse than we, obviously deceitful
as the argument is, has ever been, and, while the mind continues
to love sin, will probably ever be, a consolation, a support, which
will prop the sinner in his pursuit of iniquity ; and induce him,
with a deplorable self-flattery to think his sins far less numerous
and far less gross, than they are declared to be in the Word of
God.
For these and other similar reasons, our real character is in a
great measure hidden from our view ; and by most men the guilt,
which they have incurred, is probably never mistrusted on this
side of the grave. This spirit, drawn out into the several acts
which 1 have mentioned, and into others of a similar nature, is
what St. Paul styles with supreme propriety " the deceivableness
of unrighteousness." In this manner men according to our Sav-
iour's declaration, " love darkness rather than light, because their
deeds are evil. He that doeth the truth, cometh to the light, that
his deeds may be made manifest, that they are wrought in God.
But he, that doeth evil, hateth the light, neither cometh to the
light, lest his deeds should be reproved."
But, when we shall appear before the bar of Christ, and " eve-
ry work, with every secret thing, shall be brought into judgment ;"
all the sins which we have committed in thought, word, or deed,
will be disclosed in full view to our consciences, as well as to
God. At the same time, all the aggravations of our sin will be
also disclosed : the criminality of these very excuses ; the dishon-
est nature of this very self flattery ; the turpitude of this very
self-deception. Every perpetration will appear in its full die ;
the mass of crimes in its full size ; and the author of them, as the
subject of all the guilt charged upon him by his maker. To the
full import of his declarations the conscience of every sinner will
be compelled to say, " Amen."
But when we see sin as God sees it, and cannot shut our eyes
to any part of our guilty conduct ; how different from our pres-
ent estimate, how novel, how overwhelming, will be the judgment
which we shall be forced to form of our character ? In that awful
day " every man's work shall be made manifest : for the day shall
SER. XXIV.] THE FINAL TRIAL. 357
declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire : and the fire shall
try every man's work, of what sort it is." Then the best of man-
kind will appear to themselves, as St. Paul appeared to the eye
of Inspiration, surrounded by " a body of" sin and " death."
Then multitudes, who have been thought in this world pleasing,
amiable, and almost faultless, will be seen to have possessed
hearts full of evil, evil only, and that continually. Then, not
murder only, but malice, will be seen to be monstrous, hateful,
and devihsh : not blasphemy only, but profane and idle words
will be the ground of final reprobation. Then not the mockery
of God only, but negligence of his worship, and irreverential
thoughts of his character, will be the foundations of eternal
ruin. It will not then be said to those only who have crucified
Christ, but to those also who have been " ashamed to confess
him before men, Depart ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared
for the devil and his angels." Then those, who have said unto
their brother, " Thou fool," as well as those who have cursed him
in the bitterness of their heart, will be " in danger of hell fire."
Then the adulterer will be shut out of the kingdom of God ; and
by his side will be excluded those also, who have loved obscene
conversation, and cherished impure thoughts. Then " he, who
has offended in one point, will be found guilty of the whole law ;"
of sinning against its whole authority and obligation, and of re-
belling against its divine Author. On that searching day, the
" righteous will" be seen " scarcely" to " be saved : where then
shall the wicked and ungodly appear?" At that awful period,
few things in the hearts or the lives, even of good men will be
found to have been done for God : while in vast multitudes, all the
thoughts, words, and actions, will be seen to have been perpetra-
tions of iniquity and services of Satan, intended for no good, but
for every evil, purpose. At that period, what will become of the
favourable opinions which we form of our own moral character ?
How groundless, how false, how fatal, will they appear ?
5thly. How humiliating, how dreadful, tvill be the appearancf
of mankind, on this solemn day ?
Vol. n. 46
358 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIV.
Those, who are saved, will, as we are told by St. John, be " a
great multitude, which no man can number, of all nations, kind-
reds, and tongues. Still, the multitude of those, who will be lost,
will also be very great ; and all these will be exhibited in their
proper character, when they come to the judgment. If we turn
our eyes for a moment upon the mass of crimes committed in
this guilty world, even in a single day, we cannot but feel that a
complete disclosure of them must be dreadful beyond expression.
What, then, must be the appearance of the whole human race,
loaded with all the evil which has been done from the beginning
of time, and which will be done to the end of the world ?
Think for a moment, solemnly think, what a multitude of sins,
of what black and dreadful dies, will then be disclosed to the
universe. Think what an endless multitude of private iniquities
will be "set in the light of God's countenance." Think what a
train of domestic contentions will then " be proclaimed on the
house-top ;" of quarrels among those, who were bound to the
tenderest affection by every ligament ; quarrels, which violated
at once the law of God, and the strongest ties of nature, be-
tween parents and children ; between husbands and wives ; be-
tween brothers and sisters. What a countless multitude of ani-
mosities and litigations, among neighbours and friends ! What a
list will be that of murders ; and what a host, that of assassins ?
How many extortions and cruelties of sordid avarice will astonish
the universe ? What swinish debauchery, what prostitution of rea-
son, what dishonour to human nature, what abuses of the bounty
of God, will be unveiled ; when the retreats of gluttony and
drunkenness shall be laid open before the last tribunal ? What a
boundless multitude of cruelties inflicted by the master, and of
miseries suffered by the slave, will sicken the heart of benevo-
lence ; when the history of private vassalage and domestic ty-
ranny shall be read in the ears of the listening world ? How will
Sodom and Gomorrah approach, and whiten, at the side of mod-
ern impurity ; of lewdness, perpetrated within sight of the Sanc-
tuary ; of stews and brothels erected in the open day of the
Gospel, and among those who have been " baptized into the
name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost ^
SEP. XXIV.J THE FINAL TEIAL. 359
Let me exhort you to ponder, also, the public wickedness,
which will then be exposed to view. How immensely will the
scarlet crimes perpetrated by Ambition, outnumber the sands
upon the seashore ; and, when gathered into a mass, overtop the
mountains, and reach up to heaven. What an amazing multi-
tude of oppressions will be recounted by the voice of Tyranny
when rehearsing his guilt before the throne of God. How many
millions of the human race will draw nigh, and present before
the Judge the miseries which they have endured from this enemy
of God and man. How many millions torn from friends and
home ; chained to the oar ; sunk in beggary ; bereaved of pa-
rents, and of children ; imprisoned in the dungeon ; and con-
signed to the rack and the gibbet, the stake and the cross ? How
many fiend-like cabals will be uncovered, when the private re-
tirements of statesmen shall be laid open ; and the universe shall
see the happiness and the hopes, the lives, liberty, and property,
of nations bartered with frosty indifference for place and power ?
What a dreadful train of iniquities will astonish the universe,
when the annals of War are recited to " the Judge of the quick
and the dead ?" How many widows and orphans will rise up, as
terrible witnesses, against the hero ; number over the husbands,
and fathers, whom he has butchered ; point to the villages,
towns, and cities, which he has wrapped in flames ; to the fields,
which he has drenched in blood ; and to the world, which he has
covered with desolation ? How will the tears of anguish stream
afresh ; the sighs of sorrow be heaved anew ; and the groans of
misery be remurmured before the throne of judgment. With
what ecstasy of woe will the voice of sufferers innumerable call
for exemplary vengeance on the head of the wretch, who has
bathed a world in tears, and filled the reign of time with agony
and despair. How will heaven and earth stand amazed, when
Superstition, Enthusiasm, and Bigotry, advance to their final ac-
count ; and rehearse the illimitable tale of misery, which they
have created, while usurping the throne of God, and lording it
over the consciences of men ? See the Inquisition unveiled ; its
fludnight dungeons laid open to the day ; its racks, and wheels,
360 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIV.
and crosses, still stained with blood ; its fires still smoking ; and
the groans of torture dying upon the ear ! Look at the glorious
company of martyrs, clothed in white, and crowned with immor-
tahty, confronting the wretches who slaughtered them for their
piety, and sent them to heaven from the flames and the cross !
See the smile of angels overcast ! See the countenance of fiends
relaxing at the sight of crimes, which have sunk men to their own
level. See bloody Nineveh rise up in judgment against the per-
secutors of Judea and Christendom, and wash away her stains !
Behold her exult in comparative innocence ; wipe her mouth ;
and say, " / have done no wickedness .'"
To complete this awful catalogue, what will be the emotions
of the great Assembly, vvhen the story of impiety, ingratitude,
profaneness, and idolatry, shall be told in the ears of the universe ?
On the throne will sit the Saviour, who has been disbelieved, and
rejected, despised and crucified afresh. The glorious and eternal
Jehovah will be here seen, from whom the great family oi Adam
have revolted ; and in the light of his countenance will rise up
the demons and the men, the brutes and the stocks, whom they
have worshipped in his stead. With what shame will the wor-
shippers be overwhelmed at the sight ? and how will all virtuous
beings turn their faces aside with horror ?
6thly. What, have we reason to think, will be the appearance
of this Congregation ?
How many of those who are before me, it is to be feared, will
appear, when this solemn disclosure shall be made of their char-
acters, to have lived " without God in the world ?" How many
of you will be found never to have entertained one serious thought
concerning your guilt, nor one anxious inquiry concerning whrt
you should do to be saved ; to have made not one sober effort to
gain eternal life, nor a single attempt to escape from perdition ?
How many of you, it is greatly to be feared, will be found never
to have asked God to save your souls, and " deliver" you " from
going down to the pit ?" How many will be found never to
have united with the heart in a single ordinance of the house of
God ; nor to have done voluntarily one good thing for your Cro
SER. XXIV.] THE FINAL TRIAL. 3G1
ator, your fellow creatures, or your own souls ? Remember, J
beseech you, that every person of this character is " a stranger to
the covenant of promise ; an alien from the commonwealth of
Israel ;" hitherto " without hope, and without God, in the world."
Were the great day of disclosure now to arrive ; what would
be your appearance ? How changed from the sloth and indifter-
ence, the sport and gaiety, which you now exhibit ? What new
thoughts would you form ? What new wishes would you exer-
cise ? With what amazement would you hear the last trumpet
sound ; the Archangel call ; and the shout of the saints rend the
heavens ? With what amazement would you see the graves
burst ; the dead arise ; the living changed ; and yourselves among
the living ; the Judge descend ; the throne set ; and the books
opened ? With what terror would you wait, while " the right-
eous" rose " to meet the Lord in the air ;" and hear yourselves
summoned to the left hand of the Judge ? How would you be
overwhelmed, when the sentence of reprobation was pronoun-
ced ; and yourselves were " banished to everlasting destruction,
from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power ?"
If this would be your miserable condition, were all these things
now to take place ; have you not the most fearful reason to ex-
pect tjie same anguish and dismay, when they shall actually take
place at the day of judgment? You are now quietly enjoying "the
pleasures of sin for a season ;" and that season is life. You
have formed no plan, you have entertained no purpose, of turn-
ing to God. With the world you are completely satisfied as your
portion ; and say to it daily, " Deliver us ; for thou art our God."
All your past thoughts, affections and privileges, have issued only
in increasing hardness of heart and blindness of mind ; a more
entire devotion to sense, and sin, and Satan; and in a greater and
greater alienation from holiness, and from God. Nothing has
hitherto been attempted by you, which has done you the least
good ; or for a moment withdrawn you a single step from sin.
Even now you are not wilhng to do so much, as soberly to pon-
der these infinite subjects. Much less are you solemnly begin-
ning a new course of life, and earnestly labouring to escape from
perdition.
362 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIV.
What hope, then, can you indulge of escaping at all ? Youth,
the best of all seasons for the attainment of eternal life, you are
deliberately squandering away. Your hearts are now too hard
to receive any saving impressions from the Gospel. What will
they be in the torpor of riper years ? " Wicked men and seducers,"
we are told, " will wax worse and worse ; deceiving, and being
deceived.'" Are not you evidently ?i;«c^efZ.^ Are you not mutu-
al seducers ? Are there not distressing reasons to fear, that in
this same course of increasing corruption you will go on as you
have begun, finish life, and enter eternity ?
Among the things, which peculiarly contribute to render your
case an object of deep anxiety and dread, this consideration
ought solemnly to alarm you. You have uniformly despised and
abused the mvaluable privileges, mercifully given to you by your
Maker. To you the word of God has spoken, the Sabbath dawn-
ed, and the Sanctuary opened its doors, in vain. Your Parents
have taught, and governed, and lived, and prayed, before you in
vain. In vain has the voice of Mercy called ; the Redeemer
poured out his blood ; and the Spirit of truth striven to bring
you to repentance. Unamended, unwarned, unmoved, you still
go on, despising instruction, and rejecting reproof. What rea-
son then can you allege why the Judge should not address to
you the awful language of his Word ? " Because you hated
knowledge, and did not choose the fear of the Lord ; because
you would none of my counsel, and despised all my reproof:
Therefore shall ye eat of the fruit of your own way, and be filled
with your own devices."
Remember, that these things have been declared to you a
thousand times ; and that they have been a thousand times disre-
garded. You hear ; but without even sober attention. You are
reminded from Sabbath to Sabbath ; but voluntarily forget. You
are warned ; but slight the admonition. You are invited and ur-
ged, to faith, repentance, and reformation ; but your only answer
is, " I pray thee, have me excused." In the very house of God
you harden your hearts. At the foot of the mercy-seat you re-
fuse to pray. In the immediate presence of your Maker you re-
fuse to bear his voice. Before the table of Christ you despise his
SER. XXIV.] THE FINAL TRIAJ.. SQS
sufferings ; and cast contempt on tliat love, which he manifested
to your souls, and which has amazed both heaven and hell, Of
all this God has been a witness every sabbath which you have
spent in his house. The all searching eye has looked directly in-
to your hearts ; and the book of remembrance has recorded them
all against the reckoning of the final day.
Even this is far from being all the guilt which you have incur-
red. Look into your hearts and lives; and you will see a multi-
tude of sins of many kinds, burrowed in your hearts, and creep-
ing out into your lives. Think how many private debasements
have polluted you " from the crown of the head to the sole of
the foot." Call to mind the profaneness with which you have
dishonoured your Creator, and digraced yourselves ; with what
irreverence you have regarded that glorious and fearful Name,
Jehovah your God. Think how often this irreverence has been
manifested, not only in the language appropriately styled profane,
but in that also which is decent and chastened ; which was not
directed immediately against God himself, but against his Word,
his Ordinances, and his Church ; because you thought it safer to
attack them, than Him.
Remember how many idle words you have spoken, and contin-
ually speak ; words flowing from a vain, empty, worthless mind,
thoughtless of God, forgetful of your duty, and regardless of
your salvation ; words answering no good, and therefore always
accomplishing a bad purpose.
Call next to mind the impure thoughts which you have indul-
ged. Think how often your imaginations have wandered after
objects, and sated themselves on images and scenes, which you
never dared to mention. How little did you think at the time,
that God was looking on, and beholding the progress of pollu-
tion in your hearts. Recall next the polluted books, which you
have read with eagerness and delight ; the polluted pictures, at
which you have gazed with the same spirit ; and the polluted
ivords, to which you have listened with pleasure, or which with
equal pleasure you have uttered to others.
To these things add your indidgence of other evil passions.
Remember, particularly, your sloth in the service of God. Can
3G4 CONSIDERATIONS ON [SER. XXIV
you find in your whole lives a single act, cordially intended to
glorify him ? If you cannot ; how great must be the number of
those actions, in which you have dishonoured him ? Feel how
destitute your lives must have been of all duty ; and how entire-
ly you have sustained the character of " unprofitable servants."
" Love not the world," says St. John, " neither the things that
are in the world. If any man love the world, the love of the
Father is not in him." In what manner have you loved the world?
Has it not hitherto been your God ; and engrossed your affection,
obedience, and worship. To this general idol have you not bow-
ed daily in humble prostration ; and sacrificed your time, your ser-
vices, and yourselves. What costly sacrifices are these? How un-
worthy of such oblations is the god, to whom they are devoted ?
Riches, honours, power, and pleasure, have engaged all your
thoughts, and all your time. Riches, perhaps, you have not cov-
eted for their own sake ; but you have coveted them for the sake
of the reputation, splendour, and luxury, which they procure ;
and, in this sense, have worshipped Mammon with a devotion not
less real, than that of the veriest miser. With honour and pow-
er you have been delighted. With pleasure you have been fasci-
nated to frenzy. " The lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and
the pride of life," have reigned over you with a despotism, which,
from any other source, would have broken your hearts, and made
you cry out of lurong, without measure. Still you have hugged
your chains ; and licked the hand of your oppressors.
Call, next, to mind the eagerness, with which you have sought
the haunts of sin, and courted the means of corruption. Recol-
lect the times and the spirit, with which you have gone to those
places where sin vi^as known by you to be practised ; where it
was made easy, convenient, and safe ; where temptations were
gathered and hoarded up with a careful hand, lest they should
fail of their ruinous efficacy, and lest otherwise the young should
not in sufficient numbers be destroyed. Think of the midnight
hours, which you have spent in seeking and perpetrating iniquity.
Think of the companions whom you have loved and chosen ;
and with whom you have united in crimes, which neither you
nor they would ever have dared to commit alone.
*ER. XXIV.] THE FINAL TRIAL. 365
With these things before your eyes remember also how often,
and in what distressing degrees, you have set an evil example he-
fore others. Of all means of corruption an evil example is the
surest : and among the bitter objects of regret seen by the mind
on a dying bed, our own corruption of others is one of the most
bitter. To think, to feel, that we have encouraged others to sin;
that we have contributed to fix their evil habits ; have lessened or
destroyed their conscientiousness, have led them to evil thoughts,
principles, and actions, of which, but for us, they would never
have dreamed ; have, under the name and guise of friendship,
taken them by the hand, and led them to perdition, or prevented
them from turning back to the path of life : is to think, and feel,
one of the most distressing combinations of guilt which will ever
agonize the soul. Yet alas how often are mankind, even in early
life, forced to think and feel, unless they are torpid, these melan-
choly things.
The time would fail me to proceed farther in this employment
of remembrance. From what has been said, it will be easy for
you all to pursue this solemn subject to any extent. How well
does it deserve to be pursued to the utmost extent, by every man
living ?
With these most interesting objects in view, I ask again, What
will he the appearance of (his Congregation hefore the Judge of
all the earth ? How different from that, which we would fain
believe ; from that, which we cannot but fervently desire !
7thly. het me exhort every person present solemnly to ask him-
self how he will appear at the great day.
The sole use of preaching is to make the mind better. To the
accomplishment of this end it is indispensable, that those who
hear should make the case their own ; and consider themselves as
primarily concerned in that which is said. If then you, who
have heard these awful considerations, would derive from them
the least benefit ; you must severally bring them home to your
own hearts. Every one of you must realize that he himself will
hereafter appear before the bar of God ; and that " every work
with every secret thing" which he has done, " will be brought iu-
?0L. li. 47
366 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE FINAL TRIAL. [SER. XXIV.
to judgment." Then it will be scarcely possible for him to fail
of asking himself the question, which I have now proposed.
Your past life you cannot alter. It is gone beyond recall.
But it may be reviewed ; and by reviewing it you may become
better. If that life, when it shall be brought out into open day,
will fill you with shame and anguish, and even with despair ; how
immensely important is it that your future conduct should be such
as to alleviate these distresses, and furnish you support and con-
solation at the final trial. For this end you must consent to
watch your hearts with all diligence ; to mark the rising sin, and
to spy out the approaching temptation. You must resolve, that
you will serve God ; must " turn to him with all the heart;" must
mourn for your sins, and renounce them ; must believe the Re-
deemer, and yield your souls into his hands. You must faithfully
" seek the Lord, while he is to be found ;" you must " call upon
him, while he is near." If you do these things; "he will have
mercy on you, and abundantly pardon you."
To prompt you to this most interesting change of your con-
duct, keep these amazing considerations before your eyes. "Bind
them upon your right arms : lay them up in your hearts : speak
of them, when you sit in the house, and when you walk by the
way." Solemnly ponder them, " when you lie down, and when
you rise up." Can you remember in this manner, that you will
soon be judged ; and yet continue stupid ? Can you ask, each for
himself, "What will be the account which I shall give ? What
will be the place where I shall stand? What will be the doom
which I shall receive?" and still sleep the sleep of death? Re-
member that you are hastening to endless ruin, or immortal glo-
ry. " Behold, the day cometh, which shall burn as an oven : and
all the proud, and all that do wickedly, shall be stubble : and the
day, that cometh, shall burn them up, and leave them neither
root nor branch." In that dreadful day, " They that fear the
Lord," saith Jehovah, " shall be mine, when I make up my jew-
els; and I will spare them, as a man spareth his own son, thatj
serveth him." Life and death are this day both set before you ,*j
therefore choose life, that you may live forever.
.'SERMON XXV.
THE DISAPPOINTMENTS, WHICH WILL TAKE PLACE AT THE DAY
OF JUDGMENT.— Sermon I.
Luke xiii. 28 — 30.
There shall he weeping and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall
see Abr-aham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets, in the
kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrust out.
And they shall come from the east, and from the west, and from
the north, and from the south, and shall sit down in the kingdom
of Gov.
And, behold, there are last which shall he first, and there are
first which shall he last.
In the 24th verse of this chapter we are informed, that a cer-
tain nian said unto Christ, " Lord, are there few that be saved ?"
As this was a question of improper curiosity, Christ, instead of
answering it, directed him, and all others who shall become ac-
quainted with the injunction, to " strive to enter in at the strait
gate ;" and subjoined, as a powerful reason for obedience to the
command, that " many would seek to enter in, and would not be
able." To this melancholy declaration he annexed a most af-
fecting account of the miserable disappointment, which will be
experienced by those, who, in this world, but on false grounds, ex-
pect an admission into the divine kingdom. They will go with
confidence to the door of life, and say, " Lord, Lord, open to us."
They will declare, that " they have eaten, and drunk in his pres-
ence," and that " he has taught in their streets ;" but he will re-
ply, " I know you not, whence ye are : depart from me, ye work-
, ers of iniquity." Then he subjoins, " There shall be weeping,
and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall see Abraham, and Isaac,
368 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE fSER. XXV.
and Jacob, and all the prophets, in the kingdom of God, and you
yourselves thrust out. And they shall come from the east, and
from the west, and from the north, and from the south, and shall
sit down in the kingdom of God. And, behold, there are last,
which shall be first ; and there are first, which shall be last."
In this passage of Scripture we are taught,
I. That some of the human race will he shut out from the king-
dom of God, tvho have confidently expected admission.
II. That others^ whom they expected to see shut out, will he re-
ceived.
III. That the distress, occasioned hy this disappointment, will
he very great.
These subjects, deeply interesting to every religious assembly,
and demanding, at the present time, the most solemn attention
of this audience, will be briefly considered in the following dis-
course.
I. Some of the human race will he shut out of the kingdom of
God, who have confidently expected admission.
" There shall be weeping, and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall
see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets, in the
kingdom of God, and you yourselves thrust out." The persons,
to whom these words are addressed, are exhibited in the context
as coming with an assurance of admission ; and as alleging what
they think very sufficient reasons, why they should not be reject-
ed. They gave Christ the honourable title of Lord ; and thus in-
dicate their own character as his servants. They request him to
open to them, in terms, which sufficiently prove, that they expect
no denial. They declare, that they have eaten and drunk in his
presence, as friends ; and that he has, at a former period, shewn
them peculiar favour, by teaching his religion publicly in their
streets. These very persons he addresses in the text, as being,
to some extent, a part of his audience. This audien.ce, we know,
was formed of Jeivs ; all of whom, being children of Ahrahamy
confidently regarded themselves as heirs of the divine kingdom.
In the corresponding passage, (Matthew viii. 12.) Christ himself
calls them, as they were probably accustomed to call themselves,
SER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 369
"the Children of the Kingdom." "I say unto you that many
shall come from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abra-
ham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom 6f heaven : But the
Children of the Kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness :
there shall be weeping, and gnashing of teeth." These Jews
therefore, notwithstanding their confident expectations of being
admitted, will be finally shut out. Like them, ail, who on simi-
lar grounds form the same expectation, will be disappointed.
Christ has proffered to mankind a glorious immortality in the
future, eternal kingdom of his Father. But He has proffered it
on his own terms only. Many of mankind, however, intend to
obtain this blessing on terms, widely different from his. Of these,
multitudes feel assured of success ; and will enter the future
world with this assurance. The expectations of all these persons
will be disappointed ; and, while they are crying, " Peace and
safety," " sudden destruction will come upon them, which they
cannot escape," As some, perhaps many, of this audience, may
be in this very situation ; it cannot be an unprofitable employ-
ment to examine the character of those, who will meet with this
unexpected reception.
1 St. Of this number will he all those, who leave the world, re-
lying upon their oivji Righteousness.
Christ has taught us abundantly, and absolutely, that his right-
eousness is the only foundation of our acceptance. Hence, He
is styled " The Lord, our righteousness," and our Salvation :
'■ Mine eyes," said Simeon, when he took Him up in his arms,
and blessed Him, " have seen thy Salvation." Hence, also, He
is called, " The hope of glory" to mankind : i. c. the foundation
upon which Evangelical hopes of future glory may be safely
})uilt. Hence, also, God says, " Blessed is the man, who trusteth
in the Lord, and whose hope the Lord is." Hence, on the con-
trary, He says, " Wo unto them that are wise," i. o. righteous, " in
their own eyes." Hence, also, He says, "Cursed be the man,
who trusteth in man." And again, " He, that believeth on the
Son of God, hath everlasting fife ; but he, that believeth not,
shall be damned."
370 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SEIi. XXV.
Still, there are many persons, who rely either wholly, or par-
tially, on their own righteousness for salvation, and not on his. In
many respects these persons differ from each other greatly : in
this, their character is exactly the same. If they go out of the
world in the possession of this character ; they will hereafter be
united in the ruin of their hopes.
Of this number are all those persons^ who place their reliance
on External religious services. Confidence in the external ser-
vices of Religion has probably existed in every generation of men ;
and especially at those periods, in which Religion has been pe-
culiarly corrupted. These plainly constituted the whole religion
of the Pharisees. But our Saviour says to his Disciples, " Except
your righteousness exceed the righteousness of the Scribes and
Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven."
These services were, also, in an eminent degree, the religion of
the Jeivs in the time of Isaiah : " To what purpose is the multi-
tude of your sacrifices unto me ? saith the Lord. Bring no more
vain oblations ; incense is an abomination unto me. The new
moons, and Sabbaths, and the calling of assemblies, I cannot
away with. When ye spread forth your hands, I will hide mine
eyes from you ; yea, when ye make many prayers, I will not
hear." But, notwithstanding these decisive declarations, not a
small number of persons, through every succeeding generation,
have placed their hopes of final acceptance on the same ser-
vices.
" He that believeth," and he only, " shall be saved." What-
ever may be intended by that faith, which is the means of our jus-
tification, and, therefore, of our title to eternal life, it is certain,
that it can be nothing external. Faith, whatever else it may be,
has its seat in the soul, and cannot possibly be an exercise of the
body. How valuable soever, then, these services may be, their
value cannot exist in this ; that they constitute, either wholly or
partially, the foundation of acceptance with God. Of course,
every man, who has placed his reliance on his prayers ; his prais-
es ; his communion at the table of Christ ; the dedication of him-
self, or his children, to God in baptism ; his assumption of the
SER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 371
Christian covenant ; his confirmation ; his absolution ; or his ex-
act attendance on the estabhshed, or occasional, worship of God ;
will find, all these of no more use or avail than a pilgrimage to
Mecca, or an ablution in the Nile or the Ganges. When they
are recited in the final account, however numerous, exact, and
uniform, they may have been, he will learn, what he ought now
to know, that they are " a smoke in the nostrils of Jehovah ; an
abomination, which he cannot away with."
The multiplication of such services, and extreme exactness in
performing them, united with many scruples and fears concern-
ing things of an indiflferent, and therefore ordinarily of a lawful,
nature, constitute the character of those who are styled supersti-
tious. The difference between the superstitious man and the
external Christian lies not in the kind, but in the degree. Be-
tween the observances of superstition, and the faith, repentance,
and holiness, of the Gospel, the distance is infinite : there being
nothing in the former which bears even a remote resemblance to
the latter. To the latter God has promised salvation : to the
"former he has promised nothing. In the day of trial therefore,
the superstitious man will find, that all his hopes are built upon
the sand.
Of the same number is the enthusiast.
Enthusiasm is a reliance for religious knowledge, dispositions^
and duties, on immediate and supernatural communications from
God. No such communications exist in fact. Those, which are
mistaken for them, are only the suggestions of a wild and heated
imagination. Were they really what they are believed to be ;
they would contain in themselves nothing, which is evangelically
good ; nothing, of the nature of Religion ; nothing, which can
entitle the subjects of them to eternal life. " Though I speak
with the tongues of men, and of angels, and have not love ; I
am become as sounding brass, and a tinkling cymbal." These
supposed communications from God are also supposed to be
proofs, that the subjects of them are peculiarly his favourites.
In consequence of this belief, they are filled with what they er-
roneously call spiritual joy, but what is in realitv nothing but
372 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAJCE [SER. XX\
gross spiritual pride. Accordingh^ they erect themselves very
often into private, and not unfVequently into public, teachers of
Religion. They profess to know, that themselves are, and that
others are, or are not, regenerated ; and to determine whether
Ministers are, as they style it, sent, or have an internal call to
preach the Gosj^el. They not unfrequently speak of themselves,
as being thus sent, or called ; intending by the call an internal
impulse, a direct communication from heaven ; which they pro-
fessedly feel, and understand, to be of this nature. Thus, they
consider themselves as summoned no less clearly and certainly to
preach, than Paul was ; and, substantially, in the same manner;
viz. by a direct revelation from God. A real call to preach the
Gospel, whenever it exists, is made up of piety ; a capacity to
nnderstaiid the Gospel ; an actxial, and extensive, acquaintance
with what it contains, derived from an enlightened understanding,
and intense study ; together with such extensive knowledge, as
loill enable a man to write, and to speak, so as hopefully to con-
vince his fellow-men of the Truth, and persuade them to embrace
it. All this, however, as every man, even the best, is perpetually
in danger of deceiving himself, especially with regard to his own
endowments, and attainments, should be clearly decided by the
judgment of those around us, who are eminently wise and virtu-
ous. But these men have no such qualifications ; and, therefore,
no such call.
With regard to the knowledge, which they profess of their own
conversion, they are equally and miserably deluded. The Scrip-
tures no where tell us, that we shall know the fact, that we are
converted. Were this otherwise, and the fact known ; it would
not at all help us to know the time, when our conversion took
place. There is not a hint in the Gospel, that this time is ever
known ; and, were it actually known, it would preclude all the
necessity of self examination, so often enjoined ; and render use-
less the evidences of regeneration, given us in the Scriptures :
and nugatory the rules, by which we are to try ourselves.
As to their knowledge of the regeneration of others, whether
ministers or Christians ; we may judge of its soundness from this
SER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 373
fact : that St. Peter, in the plenitude of inspiration, and under
the immediate guidance of the Holy Ghost, said of Silvanus or
Silas, the companion of Paul ; a prophet ; a man inspired ; an
eminent, laborious, and very successful minister of the Gospel,
whom Paid thought proper to unite with himself in the two
Epistles to the Thessalonians ; of this man St. Peter said, only,
" Silvanus a faithful brother, as I suppose." Unless, therefore^
the men, whom they pronounce to be Christians, are better men
than Silas, or they, better judges of this subject than St. Peter,
it would certainly become them to exhibit no more confidence,
than he has thought proper to exhibit.
The truth is, all these opinions are deplorable delusions ; un-
warranted by Scripture ; unsupported by facts. Nor is this all.
Their pretensions are, in the most absolute manner, refuted by
facts. Instead of exhibiting the wisdom and piety of good men,
they ordinarily exhibit a character, made up of gross folly, and
gross sin. Particularly, they are wonderfully guilty of the com»
plicated sins of spiritual pride and self-righteousness ; and are
thus a wound to Religion, and a smoke to the eyes of all its
friends.
Let every person of this character remember, that, were he
possessed of all the communications from heaven, which he chal-
lenges, they would not go a single step towards proving that he
is a Religious man, Balaam was really inspired ; and in a high-
er degree, than these persons will dare to boast. He uttered, al-
so, several sublime and wonderful prophecies. Yet " he loved
the wages of unrighteousness ;" and perished in his iniquity. If
I am asked whether none of these men, whom I have described,
can be good men ; and am so severe as to condemn them all ; I
answer, that my own business hes not with the men, but with
their principles, and practices. As there are sinners, who have
hypocrisy enough to appear like Christians ; so there are Chris-
tians, who have folly and wickedness enough, remaining, to make
them appear much like sinners. The principles, and practices,
of these men I condemn absolutely ; arjd pronounce with confi-
dence, nay, with certainty, that they will not help them a single
Vol. II. 48
374 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXT.
step towards heaven. As to the men themselves ; " to then-
own Master they stand, or fall." For myself, when they cease
to be " puffed up, and to vaunt themselves •," when they become
meek, modest, humble, and self-denying ; when they are more
willing to obey that precept of St. James ; " My brethren be not
many tea'chers ;" I shall begin to thiuk more favourably of their
character.
Of the same number, also, are those persons, who rely upon a
decent and amiable behaviour.
To give pleasure to others, and to be loved by them, are at-
tainments, naturally desirable in the eyes of all men. Nor will
he, who steadily aims at this object, fail of giving the pleasure.
Avhich he intends, and of being loved by those, to whom it is giv-
en. The disposition, which gives birth to such behaviour, is in
itself amiable, and useful ; and contributes much to the peace of
domestic life, and to the comfort of good neighbourhood. It is
therefore naturally, and in some sense deservedly, esteemed and
commended. For what is thus commended they of course give
themselves full credit. Others think .well of them ; and they
think still better of themselves. Others think them good ; they
think themselves eminently good. But, unhappily, they stop
here; and, while they are much busied in pleasing men, make
no attempts to please God. God, therefore, is not pleased with
them ; and, of course, will not accept them at the final day.
Of the same number, also, are therj, who rely upon what are
called the Moral duties of life.
These persons, pay their debts ; speak truth ; treat others kind-
ly ; are charitable to the poor ; are sober, diligent, frugal, chaste,
and temperate. At least, they profess all these things ; and rare-l
ly profess, or do, any thing more. These, also, are useful mem-
bers of society. The things which they do, are useful things :
nay, they are essential and indispensable parts of the Christian
character. But it is indispensable, also, that all these and all
other things which are done by man, should be done with a spirit
of obedience to God. All good things, such as the Scriptures
call good, come forth " out of the good treasure in the heart of
SER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 375
a good man ; out of a heart informed with faith, repentance, and
love. They are the fruit of " the good seed," sown in such a
tieart. That, which is not done with a supreme reference to the
will of God, is not morally good in itself; and will never be styl-
ed good by him.
The morality, on which these persons rely, will never bear an
Evangelical examination. But, were it as excellent as themselves
believe, it would never purchase heaven. Heaven is the reward
of Christ's obedience ; and becomes ours only by faith in him.
" Though I give all my goods to feed the poor," said the Apos-
tle Paul^ " and have not love, it profiteth me nothing."
It is ever to be remembered, that the " young Ruler," who
came to Christ, to know " what good thing he should do, to in-
herit eternal life," united in himself both these characters. He
was so amiable, that " Jesus, beholding him, loved him ; and
from his youth had done all" the " things," on which the moral-
ist relies for salvation. Still " he lacked one thing ;" and that
was " the one thing needful."
2dly. Another class of men, who ivill be exceedingly disappoint'
ed hereafter, will consist of those, who rely on what may be call-
ed a Religious Character.
The particular grounds of reliance, in this case, are very vari-
ous ; the general ground is the same. The Jews expected heav-
en because they were the " children of Abraham ;" members of
the visible church ; and the chosen people of God ; because they
were Pharisees, Scribes, or Doctors of their law ; and for other
reasons of a similar nature. Persons at the present time, and in
this land, expect heaven, because they are the children of pious
parents ; because they are baptized ; because they are Commu-
nicants ; or because they are Ministers in the Church of God.
In the same manner the friends of religious persons ; their
companions, and equals ; accustomed to the same sentiments,
and course of hfe ; united with them in many hopes, wishes, and
pursuits ; having the same character given them ; and being
treated by others, as they are treated ; easily believe themselves
to possess the same character ; and form strong hopes of finding
376 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXV.
hereafter the same destiny. Their rehgious companions, they
doubt not, will be saved ; and entertain almost as little doubt,
that themselves will obtain the same salvation.
3dly. Persons, who believe themselves to he religious because
others believe them to be of this character^ constitute another class
of those, who will experience this dreadful disappointment.
Solomon says, " He that says to the wicked, ' Thou art right-
eous,' him shall the people curse : nations will abhor him." This
denunciation was probably directed, immediately, against such
judges, as acquit the wicked in opposition to law, and truth, and
thus pronounce them righteous. But it certainly may with even
more force be applied to those, whether Christians or Ministers,
who " sew pillows under all arm-holes;" who "slightly heal the
wound of the daughter of God's people ;" and who by " speaking
smooth things cause the Holy One of Israel to cease from before"
mankind.
When we remember the amazing things, which have been
done to accomplish our salvation, in the Redemption of Christ,
the mission of his Spirit, and tlie course of his providence ; when
we remember, that nothing less than this could have accomplish-
ed our salvation ; we cannot avoid the conclusion, that the moral
character, which entitles us to eternal life, the communication of
which is the end of all these labours, is not in man by the mere
influence, and in the usual course, of nature.
Yet a great multitude of persons, and among them not a small
number of preachers, have ever represented Christianity as noth-
ing more than the heathen have often acquired, and Christians
as nothing more than heathen, enlightened, polished, and im-
proved, by the Gospel. No radical change of heart, where these
men influence, is taught or believed. To be pleasing and reputa-
ble on the part of some ; to speak truth, and do justice, on the
part of others ; and to have done, as it is emphatically expressed,
no harm, that is, to have been quiet, orderly members of society, on
the part of others still ; is esteemed a character sufliciently safe,
a ready passport to the world of glory. But all these will, at the
great trial, find with deep amazement, that nothing will be ac-
SER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 377
cepted by God, but that contrite, believing, and obedient heart,
which is created in man by the Spirit of Truth. " Except a man
be born of water, and of the Spirit, he cannot see the kingdom
of God."
4thly. Another class of these persons is composed of those, who
place their religion in the hioivledge, and not in the obedience^ of
divine truth.
" Though I have the gift of prophecy," saith St. Paul, " and
understand all mysteries, and all knowledge, and have not love, I
am nothing." You cannot but discern, that this declaration is
absolutely decisive, and cuts off every hope of salvation from ev-
ery man who is not the subject of evangelical love. In the same
manner, saith St. John : " He, that loveth," or is the subject of
evangelical love, " is born of God, and knoweth God." " He,
that loveth not, knoweth not God : for God is love." Notwith-
standing these declarations, there are, however, men, who ac-
knowledge the Scriptures to be the word of God, and spend
much time in learning their doctrines, and who yet concern them-
selves with nothing farther. These men often think well, and
converse well, on divine subjects. Their instructions are listened
to with pleasure ; received with respect ; and mentioned with
commendation. As they naturally love to dwell upon subjects,
by which they please others, and gain their esteem ; they are ea-
sily believed to love the truth, which they make so frequently the
theme of their conversation. The character, thus given to them
by others, they readily assume to themselves ; and with the aid
of a little self-complacence, hesitate not to believe themselves to
be Christians.
These observations are strongly descriptive of most Enthusi-
asts. The religion of these men, to a great extent, lies in the
knowledge, which they imagine themselves to have acquired by
extraordinary communications from heaven. This knowledge
they are always eager to impart, for the purpose, as they would
persuade you, of enlightening others ; but with the real design of
exalting themselves. Could thet/ be prevented from talking; or
4)ihers from listening to them ; the world would be surprised to
^78 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER, XXV.
find how little there was left of that religion, which now makes
so much bustle.
5thly. Another class of the same persons is formed of those,
who place their reliance on their Zeal.
" It is good," saith the Apostle Paid^ " to be zealously affect-
ed, always, in a good thing." Gal iv. 18. A cold, stupid, heart-
less professor of Religion, absorbed in the concerns of this world,
gives little evidence, that his profession is sincere ; and, if he be
a Cliristian, is a disgrace to the name, and a spot upon the char-
acter of Religion. Yet there is a zeal., which is " not according
to knowledge." St. Paul testifies this concerning the Jews.
Rom. X. 2. " They have a zeal of God, but not according to
knowledge." Even Jehu could say to Jehonadab, " Come with
me, and see my zeal for the Lord," Yet, we are informed, " Je-
hu look no heed to walk in the law of the God of Israel with all
his heart : for he departed not from the sins of Jeroboam, who
made Israel to sin." The zeal of St. Paul, before his conversion,
was such, that, as he himself says, he was e^uMvofjuvoi., entirely
mad^ or absolutely delirious., in opposing Christianity.
The persons, of whom I speak, are not only zealous, but rely
upon their zeal, as being itself Religion ; or at least as being a
primary part, and a chief evidence, of their Religion. Persons
of this character are remarkably engaged in all those religious
services, which are seen by mankind ; and especially in those,
the performance of which is supposed to require more than or-
dinary earnestness in the cause of God. They are zealous, often,
for the worship of the Sabbath ; but as others, in great numbers,
are punctual attendants upon this worship, and themselves, there-
fore, can acquire no distinction from such attendance, they are
still more zealous about those private religious meetings, which
are of mere human appointment, and are voluntarily entered into
by Christians for their mutual comfort, and edification. Such
meetings are certainly warranted by the Scriptures ; and, when
conducted with the order and decency of the Gospel, are both
useful, and commendable. Still they are not instituted by God ;
and can, therefore, hold no place in comparison with those, which
SER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 379
are. The institutions of God we are bound by infinite authority
to observe ; the appointments of men we may observe, or not, as
our judgment shall direct : effectual care being taken, however,
that we do not neglect them from sloth, avarice, pleasure, or
other guilty inducements. Yet I do not remember a man of this
character, who did not discover far more solicitude about those
religious services which are not, than about those which are, of
divine institution.
Zeal, which is not according to knowledge, is always censori-
ous. Such persons are hardly willing to allow those to be Chris-
tians, who do not meet when, and where, they meet ; think as
they think ; talk as they talk ; and act as they act. Mild and
self-governed Christianity, though far mote correct, more produc-
tive of good fruits, more amiable, more evangelical, more heaven-
ly, and incomparably less deserving of blame, than their own
character, passes with them for little or nothing. A great part
of their business is to judge others ; and it is to be feared, that
they rarely remember that they themselves are to be judged.
6thly. Another class of the persons under consideration., is
formed of those who place their hope in a Faith., which is without
loorks.
" As the body, without the spirit, is dead," saith St. James^
" so faith, without works is dead also." This is a melancholy
declaration to all those who wish for a cheap religion, and intend
to go to heaven without self-denial. Probably not a few of them
have secretly wished, that this text, and the chapter in which it
is contained, had never been embodied in the Scriptures. It is a
pleasant thing to persuade ourselves that we may " love the
world," and yet " the love of the Father be in us ;" that "the
kingdom of God" does consist " in meat, and drink ;" in amass-
ing wealth, acquiring personal consequence, and in enjoying
pleasure ; and not " in righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy
Ghost." It would gratify our feelings not a little, if there were
no cross to be taken up ; no violence to be done to our passions
and appetites -, no sacrifice to be made of our time, our labours,
our property, our sensual enjoyments, to God. He, however.
380 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXV.
has determined otherwise : and we must obtain heaven in his
way, or not at all. Those, who will " inherit the kingdom" of
our heavenly Father, are such, as have done kind offices to ihe
brethren of Christ, and, through them, to Christ himself. The
fast, which God has chosen, is, that we deal our bread to the hun-
gry ; that we bring the poor, ivho are cast out, into our houses ;
when we see the naked, that we cover him ; and that we hide not
ourselves from our oivn flesh. The faith, by which alone we shall
be justified, is " the faith which worketh by love." No mention
will be made, in the the final day, of the dead faith spoken of by
St. James, and exhibited by him as a carcase, without a soul to
animate it : and, on the ground of such a faith, no child of Adam
will be accepted.
II. Other persons, whom these expected to see shut out, will be
accepted.
Of this number there will be.
1st. A multitude of such, as, in this world, have lived in humble
and despised circumstances.
Pride always leads us to imagine ourselves better than we are ;
and better, particularly, than others. Them it depresses below,
ourselves it elevates above, the standard of truth. Nor does this
deceitful passion employ itself less on our moral character, than
on our wealth, learning, office, or reputation. " God, I thank
thee, that I am not as other men are," is the language of im-
mense multitudes, who would disdain to be called Pharisees.
The hypocrite says, with great self-complacency, to the open sin-
ner, " Stand by thyself; for I am holier than thou." The open
sinner desires to be thankful, that he is no hypocrite. The en-
thusiast pities the cold rational man, because he is not distinguish-
ed by the peculiar tokens of divine favour, which himself enjoys.
The rational man blesses himself that he is not bewildered by
the delirious vagaries of the enthusiast.
When we compare ourselves with those, who are greatly be-
neath us in external advantages, we give ourselves more credit,
and them less, than we otherwise could do. A poor man is apt
to be considered as more beneath us in moral worth, than we
[SER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 381
should imagine, if he were rich; an ignorant man, than if he were
learned ; an humble man, than if he were in an elevated station.
Hence we naturally suppose, that such men are not regarded
by God with the same favour, which we claim to ourselves.
Much less can we believe them to be objects of the divine favour,
and ourselves objects of wrath and indignation.
Multitudes of such men are, however, sincere followers of
Christ, and genuine children of God. All these, at the final
day, the Judge will summon to his right hand ; and their appear-
ance in that enviable place will excite not a little astonishment in
those, by whom they have been despised in the present world.
To see the man of rags, and wretchedness, clothed in fine linen,
white and clean; exalted from a dunghill to a throne ; translated
from insignificance, and contempt, to glory, honour, and immor-
tality ; and from ignorance and weakness, elevated to superiour
knowledge and divine wisdom ; while we, in our own conceit,
already wise, and great, and good, are given over to shame and
abhorrence ; will seem to us a wonderful dispensation.
2dly. In this number will be found great multitudes, who have
heen our own friends, companions, and equals, in the present
world.
Nothing seems more natural than the belief, that those, who
have lived together as husbands and wives, brothers and sisters,
friends and neighbours, companions and equairs ; on the same
level, with the same reputation, in the same pursuits, and with
the same testimonies of esteem and affection from those around
them ; are of the same moral character, and destined to the
same allotments beyond the grave. Yet some of these are to-
tally unlike others. Some are Christians in deed, and in truth ,•
others in name only. Some are children of God ; others children
of the Devil. Some are heirs of endless life ; and others, of end-
less death. As unlike, as are their mora! characters here, will
be their destiny hereafter. When the final separation is made,
those, who are summoned to the left hand of the Judge will with
deep amazement see their companions and equals placed on the
right.
Vol. n. 49
S82 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXV,
3dly. In this nvmher will he included^ also, a multitude of per-
sons, loho, in this ivorld, appear to be religious, and are, on that
account, despised hy others.
Most men easily believe, that others despise those, who are des-
pised by themselves ; and that they are, deservedly objects of con- ,
tempt ; and can hardly believe, therefore, that they are entitled
to the favour of God, Yet this is true of every really religious
man : and every such man is found among those, who appear to
be religious. However contemned, then, such persons may be,
and however hated such persons are, in the present world ; they
will be " remembered" by God " in the day, when he maketh up
his jewels, and" he " will spare them, as a man spareth his own
son that serveth him."
4thly. Of this number, also, will be found those, whose ac-
knowledged characters, and. opinions, have, in maiiy respects,
been different from ours.
Difference in religious opinions is extremely apt to alienate
men from each other ; and to generate uncharitableness, censure,
hatred, and obloquy. Ardent and rash men, on the ground of
this diiference, at times pronounce each other to be heretics, and
deny to each other the character of Christians. Especially, when
open debates have arisen, and the spirit of controversy has be-
come warm ; when the theme of contention has become public,
and the doctrines in question have acquired peculiar importance,
from the zeal with which they have been disputed ; we are prone
to forget the question of St. Paul, '' Who art thou, that judgest
another man^s servant ?" The dislike of Luther, and his follow-
ers, to those who denied his favourite doctrine of Consubstantia-
tion, was little less, than to the Romanists ; and his censures of
them, were scarcely less severe. The same feelings, and the
same conduct, produced by similar causes, have been predicable
of men, in every Christian age and country. Multitudes of per-
sons, who have been guilty of this unchristian conduct, will here-
after see the very objects of their hatred and obloquy, heirs of the
everlasting favour of God. It is true, that many of those, who
have been guilty of this censoriousness, afterwards regret it, as
5>ER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 383
Luther did, in the decline of life. Witli others, there is reason
to fear, it descends to the grave and enters eternity. These will
probably find, that, while the opinions, of which they judged so
hardly, do not prevent the objects of their severity from being
admitted into heaven, themselves will be precluded by their own
anti-christian dispositions. Happily for us, " it is a small thing
to be judged by man's judgment." Happily for us, Christ alone
can finally condemn.
In the same manner, different Churches^ and Sects^ are prone
to regard each other with alienation and animosity; and to speak
of each other in the language of enemies, and not of Christians.
Those, which are numerous, always feel strong in their numbers;
and, constituting the tribunals, which confer reputation and stamp
disgrace, become assured that they and those who think with
them, are founded on truth, and that salvation is encircled by
their own pale. The smaller, humbler, and less reputable, sects
of Christians, they place, of course, without the limits of the Gos-
pel, and the reach of divine favour. In both respects they will
be greatly disappointed in the great day of account. No ques-
tions will be asked by Him, who " is no respecter of persons,"
concerning the name, which an individual has borne in this world,
or concerning the Church, or the Sect, to which he belonged.
He, " who worketh righteousness"" in this world, will, in the world
to come, be accepted ; by whatever title he may have been dis-
tinguished here. The conventicle, or* the barn, will probably
send many of its worshippers to heaven ; while by the splendid
church many outside devotees will be yielded up to shame, and
everlasting contempt.
K On the other hand, small sects exercise exactly the same spirit
towards those which are larger, and, in the eye of the world,
more honourable. Under its influence they adopt the same hos-
tile conduct, and are equally uncharitable, censorious, and bitter.
But hereafter they will see, and undoubtedly will be astonished
to see, in y,ery many instances, those, who have b^^gn members of
EstaDmlied,"^^d, as tmy are pleased to style them, Rornjp^ and
SftfeJ^hurches, " sitting down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
and themselves thrust out."
384 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS, &c. [SER. XXV.
When we look at the Sect, or Church, of which ourselves
are members, we are but too ready to cry, "The temple of the
Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, are these."
When we look at those, which differ from us, especially if they
are in any respect seriously opposed to us, we are but too ready to
consider them as the synagogue of Satan. We ought to re-
member, that the name, the church, the sect, is nothing ; and
that the heart is all. A purified mind, in a purified body, " re-
newed after the image of God, in knowledge, righteousness, and
holiness of truth," is the only real " temple of the Holy Ghost,"
below the sun ; the habitation, in which this divine guest loves to
dwell here, and in which beyond the grave he will dwell forever.
SERMON XXVI
THE DISAPPOINTMENTS, WHICH WILL TAKE PLACE AT THE DAY
OF JUDGMENT.— Sermon II.
Luke xiii. 28—30.
There shall he weeping and gnashing of teeth, when ye shall
see Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets, in the
kingdom of Gon, and you yourselves thrust out.
And they shall come from the east, and from the west, and from
the north, and from the south; and shall sit down in the kingdom
of God.
And, behold, there are last, which shall he first ; and there arc
first, which shall he last.
In the former part of this discourse, after explaining the im-
port of the text, I derived from it the following doctrines :
I. That some of the human race will be shut out from the king-
dom of God, who have confidently expected admission.
II. That others, whom they expected to see shut out, will be
received.
III. That the distress, occasioned by this disappointment, will
be very great.
The two first of these doctrines I considered at that time.
Under the former I observed, that in the number of those, who
will thus be excluded from the divine kingdom, will be
1st. All, who leave the world, relying on their own righteous-
ness for acceptance with Gob.
This comprehensive description, I observed, includes smc//, as
confide in the external services of Religion ; superstitious per-
sons ; enthusiasts ; persons, who trust in a decent and amiable
behaviour ; and persons, who build their hopes upon tvhat are
called the moral duties of life.
386 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXVI.
2dly. I mentioned those, who rely upon what may be called a
religious character; such, for example, as those of Communi-
cants, or Ministers ; as destined to the same unhappy end.
3dly. Those, who believe themselves to be religious, because oth-
ers suppose them to be of this character.
4thly. Those, who place their religion in the knowledge, and
not in the obedience, of divine truth.
5thly. Those, who place their reliance on their zeal. And,
6thly. Those, who place their hope in a faith, which is without
iDorks.
II. Of the persons whom these expected to see shut out, and
who will nevertheless be accepted, I observed,
1st. There ZLnll be a multitude of such, as, in this world have
lived in humble and despised circumstances.
2dly. Of those, who have here been our friends, companions,
and equals.
3dly. Of those, who, in this world, appear to be religious, and
are, on that account, despised by others. And,
4thly. Of those, whose acknowledged characters, and opinions,
have, in many respects, been different from ours.
I shall now proceed to finish the discourse ; and, according to
the plan proposed, observe,
III. That the Distress, occasioned by this disappointment, will
be very great.
" Weeping, and gnashing of teeth," are glowing images of ex-
treme anguish : and this anguish is, by our Saviour, attributed to
the two-fold disappointment, mentioned in the text. What less
can be believed, from the nature of the subject? The disappoint-
ment will follow strong and high raised expectations ; and, in
many instances, undoubting confidence. It will be a final disap-
pointment. It will be a disappointment of every object, for
which we can hope ; of every good, which we are capable of
enjoying. It will be a disappointment, on which " Mene, Tekel,
Upharsin," will be all written, and on which eternity will be
stamped, by the hand of Jehovah. The portion of those, who
considered themselves as the only children, will be taken away /
SER. XXVI.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 387
and^ to add to the sore mortification, it will he given to those,
whom they esteemed dogs. They will not only be sunk to the
depths of depression, but will also see those, to whom they had
always felt themselves greatly superiour, elevated to supreme and
endless distinction. To behold mere rabble, the refuse of man-
kind, the offscouring of all things, raised to the most enviable
station and happiness ; and ourselves, the great, the wise, and
the honourable, the true church, the chosen people of God,
" thrust into outer darkness^" with extreme disgrace, and inter-
minable woe ; must be to be poor, and miserable, indeed. Who
could bear such a change even in the present world? Who, much
more, can bear it, when every hope is buried in the grave ? What
amazement, what anguish, will be felt when the workers of ini-
quity look around them, and see of whom their assembly is com-
posed ! What emotions will be excited, particularly, when they
see themselves of this number ! themselves ; whose character
has, in their own view, been always so meritorious, so good, as to
make it absolutely improbable, and nearly impossible, that God
should condemn them ? Who have performed all external reli-
gious services with so much exactness ? Who have scrupulously
done even little, and uncommanded things, in order to be secure
of doing every thing necessary ? Who have received such imme-
diate communications from God, as proved them to be his pecu-
liar favourites ! Who have been peculiarly decent and amiable
in their lives? and Who have performed the moral duties with
such care, that they could come to Christ, and ask with confi-
dence, " What lack we yet ?" How will they be astonished to
find themselves of this number, although they have been Com-
municants in the church of God ! nay. Ministers of that church ;
although they have been acknowledged, by all around them, to
be Christians ; although they have thought correctly, and conver-
sed wisely, on the doctrines and duties of Religion ; although they
have been peculiarly zealous in its cause ; although they have
believed the Gospel, without a single doubt concerning its divine
origin !
388 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXVL
How much will this surprise be increased, when, extending
this survey, they behold those friends and neighbours who flat-
tered them, both by their conversation and their example, into a
belief that they were safe ; and the Ministers, who taught them
from the desk, that these things would secure their title to hea-
ven ; involved in the same 'uin ! How unspeakably will this as-
tonishment be increased, when they see multitudes of the poor
and despised, the objects of their* scorn and abhorrence, their
servants, clowns, and beggars, admitted at the same time, with
an abundant entrance, into the kingdom of God ! What pangs
will harrass their bosoms, when they see their husbands, their
wives, their children, their brothers, their companions, their equals,
seated on the right hand of the Judge, in glory inexpressible ;
and themselves on the left, doomed to shame and everlasting
contempt ! How will they be amazed to find those, who differed
greatly from themselves in religious character, and opinions, so
greatly, as to be pronounced by them Heretics and outcasts from
the church ; and who were members of churches, or sects, which
they believed to be without the pale of salvation ; acknowledged
by Christ as his true followers, and made heirs of" the kingdom,
prepared for" the righteous " from the foundation of the world !"
Well may we suppose, that " there will" then " be weeping, and
gnashing of teeth."
REMARKS.
From these solemn and affecting considerations, we can hard-
ly fail to derive many, and those most important, practical les-
sons.
1st. We are strongly urged by them to the most watchful care
in determining what the genuine religion^ required, by the Gos-
pel^ is.
W^e have here seen, that not only many individuals, but many
numerous classes of mankind, and all these inhabitants, also, of
Christian countries, will, but too probably, be finally deprived of
salvation. For this melancholy fact there is a peculiar cause ;
SER. XXVI.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 389
and that cause may be easily and certainly discerned. All these
men have totally mistaken the real ground of salvation^ or the true
nature of that religion^ to tvhich salvation is annexed by the Scrip-
tures ; and have supposed it to consist in that, in. which the Scrip-
tures have not made it to consist. You will naturally ask,
" Whence this mistake has arisen V Is the subject so difficult in
its nature ? Are the Scriptures, which communicate it to us, so
perplexed, doubtful, and obscure, that such multitudes of man-
kind, and among them many, who are well informed and even
learned in subjects of Theology, have not sufficient understand-
ing to discern its nature '( I answer, " No :" Neither of these is
the cause of the disastrous conduct, and ruinous consequences,
which we have been employed in examining. The nature of
genuine Religion may be easily understood ; and is unfolded in
the Gospel clearly, and exactly. All the real difficulty in the na-
ture of the case, lies in the Application of the Evangelical doc-
trines concerning this subject to ourselves. This, I admit, is a
task really attended with difficulties ; and liable in a greater or
less degree, to the intervention of error. Yet it is fraught with
no such obstacles, no such necessary perplexities, as to prevent
uneducated peasants, beggars, and even little children, from be-
coming christians in deed, and in truth. The subjects of error,
who have been mentioned in this discourse, have not learned
their mistakes from the Bible ; nor fallen into them from any ne-
cessary misconception of its doctrines, nor from any perplexity,
obscurity, or other defect in the manner, in which they are there
communicated. They have made their errors for themselves. The
Bible has no where taught us to trust in our righteousness for ac-
ceptance ; but, in the most explicit manner, has required us to
trust only in the righteousness of Christ. Surely there needs be
no mistake, here, in the mind of any man. The Bible has no
where annexed salvation to the external services of Religion ;
nor to the scrupulous observances of the Superstitious. The
Bible has no where, in a single hint, taught us to expect imme-
diate communications from God ; nor promised a single blessing
to Enthusiasm. No where in the sacred canoo is the merely de-
Vol. II. #0
390 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXVI
cent, amiable man permitted to hope for eternal life. Let the
Moralist also, however scrupulous and exact he may be, explore
the whole code of Revelation ; and he will not find a single
promise of future good made to him. Equally at a loss will he
be, who, because he is born of religious parents, or is a Member,
or Minister, of the Christian Church, regards himself as a religious
man, to find the least encouragement, given to him in the Gos-
pel, of acceptance with God. Nor has the Saviour, nor have
the Apostles, nor the Prophets, even hinted, that any man is reli-
gious, because other men believe this to be his character. Nor
have they taught us, that this divine attribute consists at all in
Speculative knowledge ; or in Zeal ; or in the " Faith, which is
without works."
If religion is made to consist in any, or all, of these things ; or
if salvation is promised to those who possess them ; 1 ask, in what
part of the Sacred volume is this declared? I have read the
Scriptures for many years ; and with some attention ; but have-
never met with a single suggestion of this nature ; and, therefore,
boldly pronounce, that there is not one. But if there is no sug-
ge?^tion of this kind in the Scriptures ; surely they are not char-
geable with being the source of these errors.
The Religion of the Gospel consists in faith, repentance, and
holiness. But the Faith is not " the faith, which is without works.''
By such a faith, St. James expressly declares, no man can be jus-
tified, or saved. It is the faith, not of Simon Magus, but of the
Eunuch, whom Philip baptized. It is " believing with all the
heart." It is " receiving the truth in the love of it." It is " be-
lieving with the heart unto righteousness :" that is a faith produc-
tive of righteousness. It is " the faith, which worketh by love ;"
and therefore " purifieth the heart ;" and therefore " overcometh
the world ; and therefore looses the hold, which the world natu-
rally has on the heart of man.
Equally clear is the Scriptural doctrine of that Repentance,,
which it declares to be " unto life." There is a repentance, which
is there called the " sorrow of this world," and is said to " work
death." By divines it is often called false repentance ; that is re-
SER. XXVI.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 391
pentance, which is not genuine, but is falsely, or erroneously, con-
ceived to be such. These two affections of the mind are in the
Scriptures, distinguished by two Greek words ; fxttane-Ksa, which
invariably is used to denote this natural sorrow for sin, as injuri-
ous to our happiness ; or the erroneous repentance, which has
been mentioned ; and fistdvota, which denotes a real and perma-
ment change in the disposition for the better. A sorrow for sin,
as being unworthy, and guilty, in itself; as dishonourable to God,
and injurious to mankind. The account, universally given in the
Scriptures of these two affections of the heart, is every where
correspondent with the proper meaning of these words, as here
expressed. A plain man may, therefore, easily understand the
distinction between them.
Equally intelligible is the Scriptural exhibition of Holiness.
Evangelical holiness is obedience to the two great commands of
the moral law : " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God, with all thy
heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with
all thine understanding ; and thou shalt love thy neighbour as
thyself." Certainly, these commands are among the most per-
spicuous sentences, which can be found in language : and no
man, it is believed, who is willing to let them speak for them-
selves, ever mistook their meaning in any such manner, as to
lead him dangerously astray. But, plain as is the nature of the
faith, repentance, and holiness, which form the religion of the
Gospel, that religion, as we have seen, has been frequently, and
fatally, misapprehended. The evil, of which I complain, lies in
the heart of those, who thus misapprehend. They love not
real Religion ; and yet wish to be saved. They are willing to be
externally religious, even in a superstitous and burdensome de-
gree. They love to have it thought, that they are renewed ; that
they receive extraordinary communications from heaven, and are
its distinguished favorites. They often are disposed to be decent
and amiable in their deportment. They are willing to understand
the doctrines of Religion ; and are pleased to converse about
them. They love often to be zealous ; and to be moral ; so far
as their external conduct is concerned. All these things pro-
392 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXVL
mote their reputation ; gratify their pride ; contribute to their
convenience ; quiet the reproaches of conscience ; and comfort
them with the hope of obtaining eternal hfe. But, although some
of these things are indispensable duties of a religious man, and
essential to a religious life, they are in no sense Religion itself.
All of them may exist ; and yet the subject of them be entirely
alienated from God, and an heir of final condemnation.
As, then, we have seen so many of our fellow men fatally de-
ceived with respect to this great subject ; and as we, in pursuing
the same courses, shall be deceived in the same manner ; it be-
comes immensely important to every one of this assembly to de-
termine what the genuine religion, required by the Gospel, is.
The great rule for coming to a final decision on this point is, in
my apprehension, this : to receive the declarations of the Sacred
Volume ill their plain, obvious sense. Christ, the Prophets and
Apostles, always addressed themselves to men, almost universally
plain, and uneducated. They intended, that these men should
understand them ; and, therefore, spoke a language, which could
be understood by such men. But such men are unable to an-
nex any meaning to language, except the obvious one. In all
ordinary cases, therefore, the obvious meaning must be the right.
Were this rule cordially observed ; the difficulties, usually found
in determining on the religion of the Gospel, would vanish.
2dly. With these solemn considerations in view, let me also
urge every member of this assembly, to examine the grounds of
his own hope of salvation.
If the observations, made in the former part of this discourse
are just ; multitudes of those who believe themselves to be Chris-
tians, will be fearfully disappointed at the final day. They will
go to their account with strong expectations of being accepted ;
but will nevertheless be cast out. " Am I, or am I not, of this
unhappy number V is a question, which is of infinite moment to
every member of this assembly. The solution of it is, indeed at
hand. If you repent ; if you believe ; if you obey ; you will be
saved : if not ; you will be lost. Could these things, or either of
them, be satisfactorily determined ; this solution would be com-
sER. XXV.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 393
plete. But there are, I acknowledge, very serious difficulties, in
many cases at least, in obtaining such satisfaction ; the difficul-
ties which I have already mentioned, as lying in tlie Application
of the Evangelical doctrines^ concerning this subject to ourselves.
The defect, here, is not however in the doctrines, but in us. So
many of our natural affections resemble those, Vvhich are Evan-
gelical ; the resemblance itself is often so strong ; the motives,
from which we act, are sometimes so difficult to be distinguished :
and we are such partial and othervi'ise such imperfect judges ;
that there is frequently not a little reason to distrust our decis-
ions. The importance of the case is, however, such, as to de-
mand every effort which we are able to make, for the purpose of
obtaining a satisfactory and safe determination. If We are faith-
ful to ourselves ; if we diligently search the Scriptures ; if we
watchfully enquire into the state of our hearts, and lives ; if we
humbly ask God to direct us in all our investigations ; we have
every encouragement to believe that we shall proceed with safe-
ty. The evidence of our piety may not be, indeed, so great as
we should wish; yet I am persuaded it will be such, as to pre-
vent us from being discouraged, and to keep us alive in the Chris-
tian course.
But the examination, which 1 here mean especially to urge
upon you, is that, which respects the several sources of self-delu-
sion mentioned in the former part of this discourse. Are you not
in danger, from one or other of these causes, of the deplorable
disappointment there specified ? Have you not been accustom-
ed to expect salvation from your ovv^n righteousness ? Do you
not expect it from your performance of the external duties of Re-
ligion, and Morality ; from the decency of your deportment, or
the amiableness of your character ; from your zeal ; from your
ability to understand, and converse about, religious subjects ;
from your integrity, justice, and kindness to others ; or from your
unqualified belief of the Scriptures, a belief, however, producing
no valuable fruits in your hearts or in your lives 1
Not one of you intends finally to perish. On something which
you have done, or something which you expect to do, every one
394 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XX^ I.
of you relies for acceptance with God. Many of you, I presume,
look to that broken reed, a distant, perhaps a death-bed, repent-
ance ; hut many of you trust, it is to be feared, in what you al-
ready are, or have already done. But, if you are not Christians
in deed ; nothing which you are, nothing which you have done,
will furnish you with the least consolation at the final trial.
Let me beseech every one of you to reflect solemnly, and deep-
ly, on the immense importance of this amazing subject. You
will all soon " stand before the judgment-seat of Christ." How
will you severally be received ? What account will you give ?
What sentence will you hear ? Whither will you go from the
trial ?
Are you prepared to recite your faith in Christ ; your repent-
ance towards God ; and your obedience to his holy law ? The
truth, whatever it is, whatever it shall be, you must declare. Be-
fore Him, " who searcheth the hearts, and trieth the reins," no
falsehood, no disguise, no concealment, can avail. Can the poor,
naked, disembodied soul, alone and friendless, sustain a denial
in that day ? Can any member of this audience endure to go
into the presence of the glorious Redeemer, and say, " Lord, I
have eaten and drunk in thy presence, and thou hast taught in
our streets ;" and hear him reply, " Depart from me, I know thee
not, thou worker of iniquity V
Can you endure to hear the sentence of final reprobation pro-
nounced on j/ou, to be thrust out of the kingdom of God, to see
heaven shut to you forever, to behold immortal life, the last com-
fort, and the last hope, vanish ? Can you bear to see God hide
his smile of mercy, his children withdraw from you, their ene-
mies, and yours, approach to hear your condemnation, and tri-
umph in your ruin, the world of darkness unfold its wide and mel-
ancholy gates ? Can you endure to hear the chains of misery
clank, and the groans of endless mourning echo around the dis-
mal region ? to see the stream of everlasting sorrow flow from
every eye ? and to hear the curse of eternal rebellion howl
through the dreary and desolate midnight forever ?
SER. XXVI.] THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE 395
How changed will be the scene from your present enjoyments,
and your present hopes ! Now you are probationers for immortal
life, and peace, and joy. Now you are alive ; in the house of
God ; in his immediate and gracious presence. You come, and
may come boldly, to offer your prayers, and present your praises.
You come to " seek him, while he may be found ; to call upon
him, while he is near ;" to ask the forgiveness of your sins, the
renovation of your souls, and your deliverance from endless woe.
You come to spread all your wants before him of life and death,
of time and eternity ; and to request and obtain the needed sup-
plies from his hand. He is present to hear and answer, to bless
and save, you. How comforting the situation ! how bright the
prospects ! how divinely glorious the hopes ! A reconcileable God
seated upon a throne of mercy to receive you, as penitent, re-
turning children ! A crucified Saviour calling you to faith, re-
pentance and holiness, and opening the " everlasting gates" that
you " may enter in !" Heaven unfolding its light and glory for
your enjoyment ; and all her divine assembly waiting to renew
their joy over your arrival in their delightful mansions !
Why will you not then be saved ? Consent ; and the work is
done. " Hear ye the word of the Lord, ye that tremble at his
word : The Lord, your God, in the midst of you, is mighty ; he
will save, he will rejoice over you w^ith joy. He will rest in his
love ; he will joy over you with singing. He will gather them,
that are sorrowful, for the solemn assembly. He will cleanse
them from all their iniquity, whereby they have sinned against
him ; He will pardon all their iniquities, whereby they have sin-
ned, and whereby they have transgressed. He will give them
one heart, and one way, that they may fear him forever. Licline
your ear, therefore, and hear, and your souls shall live : and He
will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mer-
cies of David. He will give you beauty for ashes, the oil of joy
for mourning, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heavi-
ness; that you may be called 'Trees of righteousness,' 'The
planting of the Lord,' that he may be glorified."
396 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXVI.
3dly, These considerations strongly urge us to entertain very
humble apprehensions of our own character.
There is no passion which is more odious than pride : " The
Lord hateth a proud looli. Every one, that is proud in heart,
is an abomination to the Lord." There is no passion more de-
ceitful : " He, that trusteth in his own heart, is a fool." There
is no passion more dangerous : " Pride goeth before destruction,
and a haughty spirit before a fall." There is no passion, which
creeps more insensibly into the mind ; there is no passion mor«
universal. At the same time, no passion so readily finds food
every where, on which to nourish itself We are proud of almost
every thing within us, and without us, with which we have any
connection ; and it makes little difference whether it be an endow-
ment or an attainment, an attribute or an accident. We are
proud even of our native moral character ; fitted, as one would
think, to inspire no feelings, but those of humility. Almost all
the persons, mentioned in the former part of this discourse, as
experiencing the dreadful disappointment spoken of in the text,
are distinguished for the species of pride which is commonly sty-
led spiritual pride. No persons are in a higher degree spiritually
proud, than the superstitious, and enthusiastic : the one, of the
superiority which he derives from the exactness of his observan-
ces ; the other, of the favour with which he believes himself to
be regarded by his Maker. The speculative Christian prides
himself in his knowledge of the Scriptures, and the ability with
which he converses in religious subjects ; the zealot, in his zeal
for God ; and the moralist in his reputation and blameless life.
Self-righteousness is to all these men, a primary cause of their
ruin. " Seest thou a man wise," that is righteous, " in his own
conceit ? there is morehope of a fool," that is of a wicked man,
^' than of him." The reason is obvious. The man, who feels
himself to be a sinner, forms no expectations of being saved on
account of his present character ; but feels, of course, that a
new and better one must be attained, before he can hope for sal-
vation. The man, who is religious in his own conceit, will, on
the contrary, be satisfied with his present character ; and feel-
SER. XXVI.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 397
ing secure of the favour of God, will seek for no other founda-
tion of hope. The danger of this situation I need not explain.
How different is the language of Scripture concerning the
humble : " Thus saith the High and Lofty One, that inhabiteth
eternity, ' I dwell in the high and holy place ; yet to this man will
I look ; even to him, who is of a humble and contrite spirit ; to
revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the spirit of the
contrite/ " '^ God," saith St. James, " resisteth the proud, but
giveth grace to the humble/' " Before honour," saith Solomon,
"is humility." " By humility are riches, honour, and life."
But the point, on which I would, here, especially insist, at the
present time, is the dangerous nature of spiritual pride, and the
absolute necessity of a humble spirit to our safety. It is impossi-
ble for God to accept him, who comes into his presence with the
declaration : " God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men,
extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this Publican : I fast
twice a week ; I give tithes of all that I possess." The first step
towards acceptance into the favour of this glorious and awful
Being, is, to assume the spirit of the Publican ; a spirit, prompt-
ing us to stand afar off; regarding it as presumption to lift up
even our eyes unto heaven; disposing us to smite upon our breasts,
and to say, " God be merciful to us sinners."
How preposterous is it for a being, born yesterday of the same
dust with the worms, and destined soon to become their prey, and
return again to the same dust, to be proud ! How impious is it
for a sinner to present this lofty character in the presence of God !
How dangerous, to add this sin to all his other guilt ; a sin, exist-
ing every moment, and always increasing ; a sin which disturbed
the peace of heaven, and ruined this world ! It is impossible
for the man of spiritual pride to know his character, or perceive
his danger, until he assumes a new disposition. He has " eyes,
which see not ; and ears, which hear not ; and a heart, which
cannot understand ;" and, should he continue to exercise the
same spirit, he will never be converted, nor healed.
4thly. These considerations powerfully compel us to exercise
charitable thoughts towards others.
Vol. H. 51
398 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS WHICH WILL TAKE [SER. XXVI.
When we are indulging pride, and self-righteousne?s ; when
wfi are exahing ourselves, and regarding and treating others as
objects of scorn, derision, and hatred ; when we are branding
them as heretics, and reprobates ; when we are looking down on
them as the dirt and scum of the universe ; how profitable might
be the remembrance, that these very men may hereafter " sit
down in the kingdom of God, and we ourselves be thrust out !
Who are we, that, thus intruding into the seat of judgment,
"condemn another man's servant?" and forget, that "to his own
master he standeth, or falleth ?" We are those, who are our-
selves to be judged ; whose cause is yet to be tried ; whose char-
acter is yet to be settled ; and whose reward is yet to be meas-
ured out. If they are Christians, our contempt and hatred of
them, so long as they are indulged, will of course prevent us
from becoming like them : i( we are, they will prevent them from
becoming like us.
There is perhaps no folly, and no sin, to which we are more
prone, than to this. Nor is there any, to the existence, and ope-
rations of which we are more blind. It is always pleasant to pre-
fer ourselves to others. That the preference is just, the pride.,
which creates it, does not permit us to entertain a doubt. The
judgment is formed of course, and admitted with pleasure ; and
there is none to call it in question. Yet all men, though blind to
this folly and sin in themselves, discern intuitively, that the decis-
ion, in most instances, is false ; although in his own cause, each
is sure that it is true.
The cause of this unreasonable and unhappy conduct lies not
in the understanding, but in the heart. To the heart, therefore,
must the remedy be applied, if we would hope for a cure. Should
each one of us solemnly realize, that the very man whom he con-
temns and derides, may not improbably be admitted, with aii
open entrance, into the kingdom of God, and he himself be shuj
out forever ; that the object of his scorn will, at the final day, be
raised to immortal glory and immortal joy, and himself be driv-
en, with supreme disgrace and woe, from the presence of his
Judge ; it would seem, that he could hardly fail to contract his
SER. XXVI.] PLACE AT THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 399
pride, lay his hand upon his mouth, and his mouth in the dust,
and take his only safe and proper station, at the foot of the cross.
Here he would make it his business to pray for others, and to
judge himself.
This consideration may be eminently useful to Christians.
Even they, it is not to be denied nor concealed, measuring them-
selves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves^
me not always wise. Perhaps there is scarcely a precept, which
respects our fellow-men, which Christians, ordinarily, find it more
difficult to obey, than that, which requires us to esteem others bet-
ter titan ourselves. The precept, however, is in itself divinely
wise ; and was never obeyed without the most solid advantage.
At the same time, its foundation is laid deep in facts. Every ■
Christian, if not grossly unfaithful to himself, knows, incompara-
bly better, his own unworthiness, than that of others. Hence he
is furnished with complete proof, and proof which exists in no
other case, that his own station ought, if he is rewarded accord-
ing to his works, to be very low. Surely this consideration is
more than enough to balance all those defects, whether real or
imaginary, on the ground of which he forms uncharitable opin-
ions of others ; censures them with severity ; and perhaps denies
them a place in the favour of God. Surely his own sins will
weigh more in the scale, which should determine the moral char-
acter, than the trifling peculiarities of the sect, class, or church,
to which others may belong ; or any differences in religious doc-
trine, which are not absolutely essential, or which do not involve
in themselves plain and gross criminality. How many persons,
of whom we have thought hardly, will make a brighter and bet-
ter appearance than ourselves, at the great day !
Boerhaave, a man who rendered himself immortal by his tal-
ents and labours, and who, there is the best reason to believe,
has become immortal in a far higher sense by his beneficence and
piety, is reported to have said, when present at the execution of
a criminal, " Perhaps that poor guilty wretch is, in the sight of
God, less guilty than I am." How few persons, have we reason
to believe, entertain such just views of the guilt of sin, and the
400 THE DISAPPOINTMENTS, &c. [SER. XXVI.
heinousness of their own sins, as this great and good man ! By
thus humbling himself^ how highly is he exalted in the view of
every person present. How greatly would pride and self-right-
eousness have lowered him in our estimation ? How exact a
counterpart is he of that fust of all men, that greatest of the
Apostles, who, after being endued with wonderful inspiration, af-
ter being caught up to the third heaven, after having converted
half the known world, could say, " Unto me, who am the least of
all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach among the
Gentiles the unsearchable riches of Christ."
Imitate, then, I beseech you, these glorious examples. Make
it your business, not to applaud, but to know, not to flatter, but
to amend, yourselves. Open your eyes daily on your errors, and
your sins ; and labour earnestly, not to justify, but to renounce
them. Remember always, that God will hereafter judge both
you, and your fellow-men ; and that " his judgment" will be " ac-
cording to truth." Ask yourselves, day by day, how you will ap-
pear in his eye, and what sentence he will pronounce upon your
conduct in this life ; and remember, that you cannot obtain his
favour, nor be received into his kingdom, unless you essentially
resemble that glorious Redeemer, who, although " the brightness
of the Father's glory, and the express image of his person," has
declared his own character in these remarkable words, " I am
meek, and lowly of heart."
8ERMON XXVII.
THE HARVEST PAST.
'Jeremiah viii. 20.
The harvest is past, the summer is ended ; and we are not saved.
To understand the import of these words, it will be useful to
consider the state of the people, in whose name they were utter-
ed by the prophet. The Jews were at this period, on the eve of
destruction. Their temporal prosperity was, from the first, sus-
pended on their obedience to God. Secular good was more fre-
quently promised, as a reward to their obedience, than that
which is eternal ; and secular evil more frequently threatened, as
a penalty for their disobedience. Every corrupted nation may
be justly considered, as hastening to its fall in the natural pro-
gress of things. But the nation of the Jews, of which God was
the Sovereign, was taught to expect this fall as an immediate
judgment from heaven ; as the punishment denounced against re-
bellion in the constitution of their government. Their sins were
known, overt acts of treason against their Supreme Ruler ; and
as such, were to be punished with peculiar severity.
A short time previous to the period when the text was written,
Josiah was on the throne of Judah. The reformation, begun by
him, was the last before the final ruin of the kingdom. At this
time, the prophet clearly saw every hope drawing fast to a close.
They had been intreated, warned, and threatened, by every
prophet from Moses to Jeremiah. But all, as the great founder
of their Empire had predicted, was in vain.
Infidelity and irreligion had taken entire possession of the na-
tion. Their kings, their nobles, their priests and their citizens,
402 THE HARVEST PAST. [SER. XXVII.
with one universal declension, had finally turned their backs on
Jehovah ; and yielded themselves up to the abominations of the
heathen. Truth, justice, and benevolence, had fallen in the
streets; and falsehood, injustice, and cruelty, rioted without con-
trol. The gold was become dim, and the most fine gold chang-
ed into dross.
The government itself, as in every case of this nature, was un-
hinged. The King* had become a mere cipher ; and was afraid
to do a plain act of justice to the prophet Jeremiah, or even to
have it known that he had consented to receive a message from
God. a sensual and brutal nobility had weakened every social
bond ; and the people, encouraged by their example and actua-
ted by their influence, had reached the verge of anarchy, and of
all the evils which that last curse of mankind so plentifully pro-
duces. Accordingly, they were finally rejected by God, and
given over to cursing.
What a melancholy prospect is here presented to our view ! A
nation fast declining, through its sins, from the summit of human
virtue and glory, into the depths of corruption, disgrace and ruin :
without friends abroad ; without harmony at home : their enjoy-
ments vanishing, their hopes setting in darkness : peace and
prosperity offered to them a thousand times ; urged upon them
by God with the most affectionate solicitude, on the most desi-
rable of all conditions, tliut of returning to their duty ; but des-
pised, rejected, and lost forever. The very time allotted for their
reformation, the day of grace and hope, now hiding behind the
mountains ; and leaving the world to a long night of misery and
despair.
Th?y and their children, destined to captivity and to the sword,
were still gay, sensual, impure, avaricious, false, fraudulent, cruel
and impious. Not a symptom of reformation appeared, to glad-
den the anxious eye with a hope of recovery. The political body
was infected with the plague ; and was fast changing into a
mass of putrefaction and death. They had been often reproved,
* Jeremiah xxxvtii.
SER. XXVII.j THE HARVEST PAST. 403
but had steadily hardened their necks ; and were now to be sud-
denly destroyed, and that without remedy.
All these were immortal beings. Of course their ruin reached
beyond the grave. Their present destruction was only the begin-
ning of another, which was to endure throughout eternity.
In what circumstances could the prophet, with more proprie-
ty, have taken up the affecting lamentation in the text, " The
harvest is past, the summer is ended ; and we are not saved V
The time of harvest in Judea was the time, when the inhabitants
and the nations, by which that country was surrounded, usually
went out to war. At this time their faithless allies the Egyptians,
in whose aid they chose to trust rather than in that of God, and
who almost of course deceived their fond hopes of succour, were
expected to bring them assistance against the king of Babylon.
But the harvest came ; and no Egyptian friends appeared. The
summer also was ended; but these auxiliaries never came. This
last hope therefore vanished, and left the wretched expectants in
the gloom of despair.
There are, my brethren, many situations in the life of man, to
w^hich this lamentation maybe applied with the utmost propriety
and force. Wherever great blessing have been enjoyed and abu-
sed, or hopes have been cherished and lost ; where God has been
long indulgent, and has finally withdrawn ; all those, who are es-
pecially concerned, may very properly adopt this afflicting excla-
mation. These, however, are not the only situations to which it
is applicable. Nor can the consideration, which it expresses with
so much energy, be of any use to the persons here intended. A
state of absolute despair, a state of remediless ruin, admits of
no alleviation. Those, who look on, may indeed derive from a
subject so awful and distressing lessons of the greatest utility.
The warning may arouse the ear of sloth, and sound an alarm to
the heart of stupidity ; where all considerations of inferiour mag-
nitude would be unheeded and lost.
But there are circumstances, in which the mind of man is of-
ten placed, of such a nature as to invite this solemn reflection ;
and to render it hopefully and highly profitable to the man him-
404 THE HARVEST PAST. [SER. XXVII
self. When our own case has become seriously alarming ; when
we have enjoyed many and great privileges, without any profit to
ourselves ; when the mercies of God have hitherto been lost up-
on us, and we have taken occasion from them only to harden
ourselves in sin and security ; a just sense of the import of this
text would not improbably awaken the most useful emotions in
our hearts, and produce the happiest effects on our conduct.
Among the cases, to which the words of the text may be prop-
erly applied by mankind, I shall select the following.
1st. Every person who still remabis in sin, 7nay, at the close of
a year, usefully adopt this lamentation.
Every year removes every sinner further from eternal life.
Mankind are never stationary in their moral condition, any more
than in their being. He, who does not advance, always recedes.
He, who does not become better, of course becomes worse.
Nor is this all. The declension is more rapid than we ever
imagine. Blindness, as you well know, is a common name for
sin in the Scriptures ; and is strongly descriptive of one impor-
tant part of its nature. Nor is it blindness to divine things only,
to God and Christ, to its duty and to its salvation ; but it is also
blindness with respect to itself The mind knows not, that itself
is thus blind ; and asks triumphantly with the Pharisees of old,
" am I blind also ?" In its own view no one is possessed of eyes
equally good and discerning ; and it usually pities all who differ
from it, as unable to see. No deception is so flattering and in-
curable as this. The views of such a mind concerning itself are
false ; and of course are more supporting and encouraging than
truth would warrant. The soul of the unawakened sinner is in-
variably more sinful, and his life more deformed, than either ap-
pears to be in his own eyes. Yet, with a most unhappy self-de-
eeption, he confides in his own decisions wholly ; and on those
of others, of the Bible, and of God, he places no reliance.
Hence his state is in every respect more dangerous, than he
does or will believe ; and his declension more rapid, than with
these views he can possibly iniagino. This is true of every year
of his life. Of consequence, the ]oss of a year is a greater loss
SER. XXVII.] THE HARVEST PAST. 405
than he can be induced even to suspect. Few sinners reflect on
their moral condition, to any such extent, and with any such so-
lemnity ; as the suspended state of an immortal mind, and the
evident danger of endless ruin, plainly and vehemently demand.
Usually they conclude, that their situation is at the worst atten-
ded with no uncommon danger ; that if one, or two, or twenty,
or fifty, years are gone and lost, years enough remain to secure
their salvation and begin their repentance, when other pressing
concerns of business or of pleasure shall be finished. " It is a
hard case," will every sinner say, " since seventy years are the
destined date of human life, and twenty of them still remain, if
a work, which demands so little time for its accomplishment, can-
not be performed within that period. I may therefore sit down
to eat and drink, and rise up to play ; and yet have abundant
opportunity to renounce my sins and turn to God."
But a sinner ought to remember at the close of a year, that he
has lost that period ; and not only lost it, but converted it into
the means of sin and ruin ; that he is more sinful, more guilty,
and more odious to God, than at the beginning; that all the diffi-
culties, which lie between him and salvation, are increased be-
yond his imagination ; that his mass of guilt and the reasons
of his condemnation are mightily enhanced, his- evil habits
strengthened, and his hopes of returning lessened far more than
he is aware ; that that year was added to those which he had lost
for the very purpose of engaging him to seek eternal life ; that
Gon, who waited every day which it contained to be gracious to
him has seen him employ every one of these days in wickedness
only ; and that, instead of living many years to come, he may
within a few days be lodged in the grave, summoned to the judg-
ment, and sentenced to that endless death which he has hitherto
laboured uniformly to deserve.
He ought also to cast his eyes around him, and see that all.
or almost all, others who have like himself trusted to a future re-
pentance, have from year to year become more hardened in sin
by these very means ; have thought less and less of turning back,
and taking hold of the paths of life ; and although whitened with
Vol. II. 5'2
406 THE HARVEST PAST. [SER. XXVII.
the locks of age and tottering over the grave, are, with an assi-
duity and eagerness not less than his own, indulging " the lust of
the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of hfe ;" as if assured
by a messenger from the invisible world that there is no God, no
heaven, and no hell. Such as they are, will he be. Their
thoughts, their conclusions, their conduct have been the same :
their end therefore will be his. How properly then may he ex-
claim at the end of a year designed for his salvation, but spent in
accomplishing his ruin, " The harvest is past, the summer is en-
ded ; but I am not saved !"
To bring the subject home to this Assembly,^ and to pre-
vent, so far as may be, each individual from hearing for his neigh-
bour and not for himself; let me address it directly to his con-
science.
God, my Friends and Brethren, has with infinite patience and
mercy prolonged your lives another year ; and, in spite of all
your sins, has renewed his blessings to you every morning, and
returned them every moment. You are alive ; have been fed
and clothed by his bounty ; have been preserved from every fa-
tal evil, and furnished with an abundance of earthly good. You
are still made probationers for an endless life. The gate of sal-
vation is still open. The voice of the Redeemer is still heard :
"Come unto me all ye that labour, and are heavy laden ; and I
will give you rest." The Sabbath still smiles with peace and
hope. The sanctuary still resounds with praise ; and invites you
to seek and ask, to find and to receive. The sceptre of forgive-
ness is still held out for you, to touch and live.
In what manner have you lived, in the midst of these blessings ?
Have you solemnly, often, and effectually, thought on the great
subject of Religion? Have you felt that your souls were immor-
tal ; that they must be either saved or lost ; that they are sinful,
and of course condemned and ruined, unless you return with re-
pentance towards God and faith towards our Lord Jesus Christ ?
Have you under these affecting apprehensions entered your
closets, bowed your knees before God, and asked him to have
mercy on you 1 Have you assembled your families with all hu
SER. XXVII] THE HARVEST PAST. 407
mility of mind ; and, with strong crying and many tears, besought
God to sanctify and save them, also ? Have you faithfully come
up to the house of the Lord ? Have you wantonly lost no sab-
bath during the past year ? How many half days have you given
to pleasure, sleep, or business ; when God came down to meet
you in his house, and to bless you ? When you were here, what
conduct has the All-seeing eye of God beheld you adopt ? Have
you united with all the heart, in the prayers and praises of this
holy place ? Have you taken heed how you heard the words of
eternal life ? Have you remembered, pondered, and resolved to
obey, what you heard '( Have you thus obeyed?
Have you delighted in the law of God after the inner man ?
Have you rejoiced in the glorious promises of the Gospel ? Have
you searched the Scriptures to find them ? Are you better than
you were when the year began ? Are you more friendly to
Christ ; more dutiful to God ; more hopeful of salvation ? Are
you nearer to heaven, or nearer to hell ? To what good purpose
have you lived ? Is not the harvest in one important sense past
to you ?
2dly. A season in which Religion prevails is also eminently a
time of harvest ; and such, as lose this season, may well adopt
icith regard to themselves the lamentation of the text.
In one place, and at one time, and another, Religion seizes
strongly the minds of men ; and becomes, in some measure as it
ought, the supreme concern. In such seasons, more persons
have within a short period become the subjects of piety and the
heirs of heaven, so far as the human eye can judge, than at other
times in many years. The Spirit of Grace descends then, as the
showers on the mown grass ; renews the face of the earth ; and
produces a living verdure, where before there was nothing but
barrenness and death. Men, at such seasons, literally fly as
clouds, and as doves to their windows. The wilderness blossoms
as the rose ; and the desert is the garden of God.
At these periods all things conspire, to persuade men to turn
lo God, God is then seen and known to be pecuUarly gracious ;
and draws near to sinners with infinite tenderness and compas-
---d
408 THE HARVEST PAST. [i>E.R. XXV U.
sion. The fields are ripe ; the labourers are busy and success-
ful ; the sun smiles upon their industry ; and a plentiful harvest
is reaped and gathered. The force of example, the strong pow-
er of sympathy, the daily sight and hearing of Religion, and its
attendant circumstances ; conspire with the ordmary means of
grace to affect the soul, and force it to become solemn, serious,
and in the end religious. A great variety of hindrances are then
also removed. The common temptations of the world are in a
great measure suspended. Fashion, ridicule, coldness, and evil
example, lose their wretched hold on the mind ; and a vacancy
is left for candour, truth, and God.
But these seasons have their close ; and some persons, at least,
retain in the midst of them their former hardness of heart, m-
creased by the resistance which they have so lately made to the
offers of mercy. While others have crowded around the pool of
healing, they have stood secure on the brink : and have employ-
ed themselves in watching their companions, in laughing at their
eagerness and anxiety, in wondering that their credulity can per-
suade them to expect a cure : or have perhaps been curiously
philosophizing on the nature of the waters, and in determinmg
that the remedy is the result of natural causes and not supernat-
ural ; of the peculiar quality of the waters themselves, and not
of any virtue infused by the Angel of health.
Of such persons, although usually very sagacious in their own
opinion, it may be said that they have eyes, but they see not ;
ears, but they hear not ; and hearts have they, but they do not
understand : for their heart is waxed gross, their ears are dull of
hearing, and their eyes have they closed ; lest they should see,
and hear, and understand, and be converted and healed. If
there be any persons in this Assembly to whom these observa-
tions are applicable, let me intreai them, since they put from
themselves the Word of God, and judge themselves unworthy of
everlasting life, to remember the solemn address made to such
as they are by St. Paul from the prophet Habakkuk : " Behold
ye despisers, and wonder and perish ; for I work a work in your
days, a work which ye shall in no wise beiievcj though a man de-
clare it unto you."
SER. XXVII.] THE HARVEST PAST. 409
At these seasons a man resists uncommon and most happy
means of grace ; provokes God in a peculiar manner ; and har-
dens his own heart to a degree and with a rapidity, which ought
to fill him with alarm and terror. How few persons have ordi-
narily beheld such an accepted time repeated, in their own neigh-
bourhood ! With hearts so hard as then to remain impenitent,
what hope can they safely indulge that common seasons will suf-
fice to bring them to repentance ? They were then stupid, and
asleep, and " dead in trespasses and sins." When will they
awake and live ? What reason have they to fear, that the harvest
with respect to them is past, and the summer ended, while their
salvation is not secured !
3dly. Another situation, to which this melancholy reflection is
peculiarly applicable, is that of a dying sinner.
Human life is one continued scene of delusion. Present ob-
jects demand all our attention, and all our care. To them alone
we attach importance ; and that, an importance far beyond what
their value will warrant. They engage, they engross our labours,
our anxiety, our hopes, our fears, our joys, and our sorrows. In
the language of most men, worldly success is the only meaning
of prosperity. To be rich, to be splendid, to be great, to be hon-
ourable, to be luxurious, and to fill the wishes of sensuality ; are
the only objects coveted by most men, the only happiness known.
One is often tempted amid the eager round of worldly bustle
to conclude, that no passage of Scripture is regarded by such
men, except that proverbial expression of brutishness : "Let us
eat and drink ; for to-morrow we die." By such men the health
and well being of the soul are contemned and forgotten ; and
the soul itself is scarcely remembered, amid the vehement pur-
suit of wealth, honour, and pleasure. But do these things, my
brethren, accord with truth and wisdom ? Place these objects in
some distant period of eternity ; and say, in what manner you
would regard them. Would you, to obtain a reversion of them
all, rise before the sun, and toil when the evening has spread her
curtains ? Would you watch and strive, with anxiety and agony ;
tremble at the approach of disappointment ; and, proclaiming
410 THE HARVEST PAST. [SER. XXVH.
that your whole happiness is centred in this world, declare at
the loss of money, fame, power or pleasure, that you are ruined.
The blessings of this world are means of life, support, and
comfort to man, while he is here ; and they are also means of
enabling him to do good to his fellow men, and in this way to
benefit his own soul. In this view I acknowledge their value.
For what else can they be valuable ? They are means, not ends.
As means, they are useful : as ends, they are dross and dirt.
Had they any other value, were they in themselves good ; they
would ^fe valuable through eternity, and desirable even in heaven.
Suppose one worldhng then, a votary of pleasure, were to in-
dulge and increase in sensuality throughout endless ages ; and
with a constant progress to become more slothful, more lewd,
and more intemperate, forever. Suppose another worldling to
become more and more avaricious, and with unremitted eager-
ness to heap up riches through eternity ; to raise the pile to the
size of mountains ; and convert at length worlds and systems into
gold. Suppose a third were to increase his pride and ambition,
throughout the same infinite duration ; and to be daily more
haughty, more envious towards rivals, more impatient of control,
more dissatisfied with his own honours, offices, and fame ; and
after he has subdued and ruled one world, and wept until he had
found and subdued another, finally to say in his heart, " I will as-
cend into heaven ; I will exalt my throne above the stars of God ;
I will ascend above the heights of the clouds ; I will be like the
Most High."
Would either of these persons in your view have found the
road to real good ? Could you covet the employment, the life,
the character, the allotment ? Yet, if these things have an inhe-
rent value, they will be valuable forever : and, the more of them
we possess, the more respectable and the more happy should we
be justly esteemed.
Future things, on the contrary, have far less value in our eyes
than they really possess ; especially eternal things. We think
them distant, but they are near ; we think them uncertain, but
ihey are sure ; we think them trifles unconnected with our hap-
»ER. XXVII.] THE HARVEST PAST. 411
piness ; whereas they are things of infinite moment and of infi-
nite concern to us.
This delusion not uncommonly travels with us through life ;
sometimes probably enters with us into the grave ; and is scarce-
ly shaken off, when we appear before the bar of God. Its influ-
ence is also universal, and extends to our thoughts, affections,
and purposes alike, and to the objects with which they are con-
versant.
On a dying bed, however, it often vanishes : and if sickness
and patience leave us in the possession of our reason, juster
views prevail with respect both to things present and things fu-
ture, things temporal and things spiritual. From such a bed a
sinner may therefore be veiwed, as taking a new survey of all
the objects of his aims and efforts, of his hopes and fears. Un-
der the influence of this clear discernment in this new state of the
mind, the following observations will shevv with how much pro-
priety he may take up this despairing lamentation.
Among the objects which may be supposed most naturally to
arise to the view of a sinner on his dying bed, his youth would
undoubtedly occupy a place of primary importance. In what
colours will his various conduct during this period appear ? He
is now on the verge of eternity, and just bidding his last adieu to
the present world and all its cares, and hopes, and pleasures.
The earth and whatever it contains, are vanishing forever from
his sight; and the places, which have long known him, will within
a few hours know him no more.
Where are now his high hopes of sublunary good ? Where his
lively, brilliant spirits ; his ardent thirst for sensual enjoyment,
for gay amusements, for sportive companions, and for the haunts
of festivity, mirth, and joy ? These once engrossed all his
thoughts, wishes, and labours. With a voice, sweeter and more
deceitful than that of the fabled Sirens, they once sung to him :
" Let us pluck the rose buds ere they wither ;" and " Let us with-
hold not our heart from any joy." Where are they now? They
have vanished with the gaiety of the morning- cloud : they have
fled with the glitter of the early dew. Of what madness will he
412 THE HARVEST PAS'f. [SER. XXVII.
see himself to have been possessed, that he could be allured
away fiom duty and salvation by bubbles, which, though adorned
with the hues of enchantment, burst in a moment, and were gone
forever !
In this precious, golden season God called to him from heav-
en, and proclaimed aloud ; " I love them that love me ; and
those who seek me early shall find me. Receive my instruction
and not silver, and knowledge rather than fine gold. For wis-
dom is better than rubies, and all things that may be desired are
not to be compared to it. I will cause those that love me to in-
herit substance ; and I will fill their treasures." His face was
then clothed in smiles ; and his voice wa^ only tenderness and
compassion. Christ also, with the benignity and sweetness of
redeeming love, invited him to " come, and take the water of
life freely ;" proffered to him the eternal blessings of his atone-
ment and intercession ; pointed to him the wounds with which
he was pierced for his sake, and the love with which, stronger
than death, he had been broken on the cross, and poured out
his blood, that he might live.
The Spirit of Grace, with the same boundless affection, whis-
pered to him, " to turn from every evil way, and every unright-
eous thought, to the Lord his God ; who was ready to have mer-
cy on him, and abundantly to pardon him." In the recesses of
the soul he awaked the friendly monitions of conscience, the salu-
tary fear of sin, the cheering hope of pardon and peace, and the
glory of the promises found in the Gospel, containing and com-
municating everlasting life.
With what amazement will he now look back, and see that he
refused these infinite blessings ; that he turned his back on a for-
giving God ; closed his ears to the calls of a crucified Redeemer;
and hardened his heart against the whispers of salvation, com-
municated by the Spirit of truth and life ! How will he wonder
that the dream of life could seem so long; and that he could,
even in one instance, much more in a thousand^ say to repent-
ance, " Go thy way for this time ; when I have a more conven-
ient season, I will call for thee !" Hoav will he be astonished,
SER. XXVII.] THE HARVEST PAST. 413
that he refused to sow the seed of the Gospel in this precious
season ; and thus rendered the field of his Hfe an Arabian desert !
Riper years will naturally next offer themselves to his view.
The bustle of this period seemed at the time to be of real impor-
tance ; and, although not devoted to virtue, yet to be occupied
by business serious and solid. But, now, how suddenly will this
specious garb drop ; and leave in all their nakedness his avarice,
his ambition, and his graver sensuality! Of what value now are
the treasures which he struggled to heap up ; and the offices
which he toiled and sighed to fill ; the honours, which he sacri-
ficed truth and duty to acquire ; and the power, which he so ar-
dently longed to enjoy ? In how vain a shadow did he walk !
On what mere wind, did he labour to satisfy the hunger of his
soul ? How will his boasted reason appear to have been busied ;
in what dreams of unreal good ; what bedlam schemes of splen-
dour and pride ; what swinish devotion to appetite ; what infan-
tine contentions about toys and gewgaws ; and what dreadful
neglect of himself, and his eternal well-being ! Instead of being
employed in discovering truth, and performing duty ; he will see
it, throughout this most discreet period of life, labouring to flat-
ter, to justify, to perpetrate iniquity ; to persuade himself that
safety might be found in sin ; and that old age, or the last sick-
ness, was the proper season for repentance and reformation.
Blind to heaven, it had eyes only for this world. Deaf to the
calls of salvation, it listened solely to those of pride. Insensible
to the eternal love of God, it opened its feelings only to the soli-
citations of time and sense.
Behind manhood, we behold age next advancing ; age, to him
the melancholy evening of a dark and distressing day. Here he
stood upon the verge of the grave ; and advanced daily to see it
open, and receive him. How will he now be amazed that, as
death drew nigh, he was still in no degree aware of its approach:
that, when his face was covered with wrinkles and his head with
hoary hairs, when his body bent towards the ground and his limbs
trembled over the grave ; he could still postpone the great work
, of salvation to a future day, and believe that repentance might
I Vol. 11. 5.3
414 THE HARVEST PAST. [SER. XXVH.
yet be safely begun at some distant time ! How hard will that
heart seem to him, which, when the King of terrors was knock-
ing at his door, when the judgment was set for him, and the
books were opened ; when 'the vail of the invisible world was
just rending in twain, and the voice of God was heard calling
with a most awful sound, " Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be
required of thee ;" when hell was enlarging her month to receive
him, and the doors of heaven were closing forever : he was still
unwarned and unconcerned ; a drowsy passenger, saying, " Yet
a little more sleep, a little more slumber," while the vessel in
which he was embarked was plunging into the abyss. In all
these periods, with what emotion will he regard his innumerable
sins ! How many will he see to have been committed in a single
day, a month, a year ; of omission, of commission ; of childhood,
and of riper years ! How will he shudder at his insensibility to
his enormous guilt ; at his union with other fools in making a
mock at sin ; at his blindness to its dreadful debasement, and
most fearful reward ! Sins now are seen by him to be the most
dangerous and fatal of all enemies ; mustered in battle array
against his soul, at the most awful of all seasons ; and when no
ally, no friend, appears to aid him in the unequal conflict.
Among the sins which will most affectingly oppress his heart,
his negligence, abuse, and prostitution, of the means of grace
will especially overwhelm him. God, all along through the va-
rious parts of his life, put into his hands with unspeakable kind-
ness his Word, his Sabbath, and the blessings of his sanctuary.
He gave him line upon line, and precept upon precept ; warnings
of his Word and providence without number ; and invitations to
embrace the Redeemer, and yield himself to him as a free-will
offering, which were new every morning and fresh every mo-
ment.
Nothing will now more astonish him, than that he could possi-
bly lose, profane, and destroy in anmsement, business, idleness or
sleep, a single sabbath ; that he could ever be absent from the
sanctuary ; that he could wander after covetousness and pleasure,
during a single prayer ; or neglect to hear and ponder a single
tSER. XXVII.] THE HARVEST PAST. 415
sermon ; that he was not engrossed by the voice of the Divine
Charmer, charming him with infinite wisdom and tenderness to
Ufe eternal ; that he did not tremble at the word of the Lord, re-
sounding in his ears the guilt, the danger, and final doom, of
all the workers of iniquity, and proclaiming glad tidings of great
joy unto every repenting and returning prodigal.
How naturally, how passionately will he now exclaim, " Oh,
that my lost and squandered days might once more return ; that
I might again go up to the house of God ; that I might again in
the invaluable season of Youth, before my sins had become a bur-
den so heavy and so grievous to be borne, be present at the
morning and evening sacrifice of prayer and praise ; and again
hear the Divine voice calling me to faith and repentance in the
Lord Jesus Christ, and to the possession of endless glory ! Were
a thousand worlds mine, how cheerfully would I give them all,
for one day to be spent in the Courts of the Lord ! Oh that one
year, one month, one sabbath, might be added to my wretched,
forfeited life ! But ah ! the day of Grace is past : my wishes, nay
my prayers, are in vain. In that long eternity which opens be-
fore me, no sabbath will ever dawn upon my wishful eyes ; no
sanctuary will unfold the gates of peace and life ; no prayers will
ever find a gracious ear ; no praises will ever ascend to heaven ;
no sermon will ever call wandering and perishing sinners to re-
pentance ; no proffers of endless life will ever be made ; the
charming sound of a Saviour's voice will never more be heard ;
and the music of salvation will be dumb forever."
Such will be the natural retrospect of a dying sinner. What
will be his prospects ?
Before him, robed in all his terrors, stands Death, the messen-
ger of God, now come to summon him away. To what, to whom
is he summoned ? To that final Judgment, into which eviery
wo7-k of his hands will be speedily brought, with every secret
thing : to that Judge ; from whose sentence there is no appeal,
from whose eye there is no concealment, from whose hand there
is no escape. Through the last agonies lies his gloomy, dread-
ful passage into the unseen world ; his path to the bar of God.
4 1 C THE HARVEST PAST. [SER. XXVII.
What a passage ! What an interview ! He, a hardened, rebel-
hous, impious, ungrateful wretch ; who has wasted all the means
of salvation, prostituted his talents, squandered his time, despised
his Maker, " crucified afresh the Lord of glory, and done despite
unto the Spirit of Grace ;" now comes before that glorious and
offended God, who knows all the sins which he has committed.
He is here, without an excuse to plead, without a cloak to cover
his guilt. What would he now give for an interest in that Atone-
ment which he slighted, rejected, and ridiculed, in the present
world ; in that Intercession, on which while here he never em-
ployed a thought ; and in that Salvation, for which perhaps he
never uttered a prayer ! The smiles of redeeming, forgiving, and
sanctifying love are now changed into the frowns of an angry,
and irreconcileable Judge. The voice of mercy sounds no more ;
and the hope of pardon has vanished on this side of the grave.
To the Judgment succeeds the boundless vast of Eternity.
Live, he must : die, he cannot. But where, how, with whom, is
he to hve ? The world of darkness, sorrow, and despair, is his
final habitation. Sin, endless and increasing sin, is his dreadful
character ; and sinners like himself are his miserable and eternal
companions. Alone in the midst of millions, surrounded by en-
emies only, without a friend, without a comfort, without a hope ;
he lifts up his eyes, and in deep despair takes a melancholy sur-
vey of the immense regions around him, but finds nothing to al-
leviate his woe, nothing to support his drooping mind, nothing to
lessen the pangs of a broken heart.
In a far distant region he sees a faint ghmmering of that " Sun
of Righteousness," which shall never more shine upon him. A
feeble, dying sound of the praise, the everlasting songs of " the
general assembly and church of the first-born" trembles on his
ear ; and in an agonizing manner reminds him of the blessings in
which he also might have shared, and which he voluntarily cast
away. In dim, and distant vision those heavens are seen, where
multitudes of his former friends and companions dwell ; friends
and companions, who in this world loved God, believed in the
Redeemer, and by a patient continuance in well-doing sought for
SER. XXVII.] THE HARVEST PAST. 417
glory, honour, and immortality. Among them perhaps, his own
fond parents ; who, with a thousand sighs, and prayers and tears,
commended him, while they tabernacled here below, to the mer-
cy of God and to the love of their own Divine R,edeemer. His
children also, and the wife of his bosom gone before him -, have
perhaps fondly waited at the gates of glory in the ardent expec-
tation, the cheering hope, of seeing him once so beloved, reunited
to their number, and a partaker in their everlasting joy. But
they have waited in vain.
The curtain now is drawn ; and the amazing vast is unbosom-
ed to his view. Nature, long decayed, sinks under the united
pressure of sickness, sorrow, and despair. His eyes grow dim ;
his ears deaf; his heart forgets to beat ; and his spirit, lingering,
terrified, amazed, chngs to life, and struggles to keep possession
of its earthly tenement. But, hurried by an unseen Almighty
hand, it is irresistibly launched into the unseen abyss. Alone and
friendless, it ascends to God ; to see all its sins set in order before
its eyes. With a gloomy and dreadful account of life spent only
in sin, without a single act of piety, or voluntary kindness to men^
with no faith in Christ, and no sorrow for iniquity ; it is cast out
as wholly wicked and unprofitable, into the land of darkness and
the shadow of death ; there to wind its melancholy journey
through regions of sorrow and despair, ages without end ; and to
take up forever the gloomy and distressing lamentation in the
text, " The harvest is past, the summer is ended ; but I am not
saved."
SERMON XXVIII.
CONSIDERATIONS ON THE CHARACTER OF NOAH.
TI. Peter ii. 5.
—But saved Noah ^ the eighth person, a preacher of righteousness
bringing hi the food upon the world of the ungodly.
In this chapter St. Peter argues from the analogy of God's prov-
idence, that, as he punished sinners in the former ages, so, from
the immutabihty of his character, it is to be beheved, that he
will punish sinners, also, under the dispensation of the Gospel.
Among the instances of such punishment, selected by the Apostle
for this purpose, one, the most affecting, which he could have
ehosen, is the destruction of the ungodly by the flood, mentioned
in the text. In his account of this subject he remarks, in order to
remind his readers of the love and faithfulness of God to the
righteous, the preservation of Noah from the general ruin ; and
characterizes him by this honourable epithet ; " a preacher of
righteousness."
To understand the import of this character, we must recur to
the age, and circumstances, of Noah. In his days, we are inform-
ed, " the earth was corrupt before God, and was filled with vio-
lence." From the account, given us in the sixth chapter of Gen-
esis, it would seem, that the family of Seth^ or more probably,
the great body of the descendants of Adam, who had been pro-
fessed worshippers of the true God, relaxing their religious prin-
ciples, had, much more closely than before, united themselves to
that part of their fellow men, who were openly irreligious. The
distinction between the friends and the enemies of Religion had,
for ages, been strenuously preserved. On this ground opposite
8ER. XXVIII.] CONSIDERATIONS, &c. 419
names are given to them by Moses ; or perhaps more probably,
the names were assumed by themselves, and retained by Moses.
The class, which, by publicly adhering to the precepts of God,
manifested in their character his image, were called Children of
God ; while the class, which, by their irreligion, appeared to be
totally destitute of this image, and discovered strongly their like-
ness to apostate Adam^ were called the Children of Men.
These two great divisions of the human race, it is indicated by
the sacred historian, entered, some time before the deluge, into
numerous and intimate connections by marriage. " The sons
of God saw the daughters of men, that they were fair ; and they
took them wives of all whom they chose."" The offspring of this
immoral and indefensible union became, as we learn, eminent-
ly licentious " and also," says the sacred historian, " after that,
when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and
they bare children to them, the same became mighty men, which
were of old, men of renown. And God saw, that the wickedness
of man was great in the earth, and that every imagination of the
thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. And it repented
the Lord, that he had made man on the earth, and it grieved him
at his heart." From this forcible language it is clear, that the
corruption was excessive, and wonderful. It is evident also, that
it was extended throughout the world ; not, probably, so as to
reach every individual, beside the family of Noah, but so as gen-
erally to prevail wherever the earth was inhabited. ,
Whenever virtuous men condescend to the measures and prin-
ciples of the wicked ; or, in Scriptural language, whenever such
men " are conformed to the world" Religion regularly decays;
and wickedness gains the ascendant. A steady, firm, open adhe-
rence to undefiled religion, is a primary means of supporting the
cause of God, and perpetuating virtue in mankind. All civility
to sin, all conformity to loose customs, all compliances with the
demands, all concessions to the persuasion, all submission to the
authority, of mere worldliness ; are direct sacrifices of righteous-
ness and truth. It is of no consequence how decent, how ap-
parently harmless, how agreeably conciliatory, this conduct may
420 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE [SER. XXVIII,
be. He, who concedes in this manner, yields up the very object,
which he may be really labouring to promote, and which, he may
flatter himself, his measures are calculated to secure. In periods
of declension virtue must, in a great measure, lay aside the
sweetness and gentleness of her character. Her face, instinct-
ively overspread with smiles, must assume austerity and sternness.
It is no longer her business to allure, and charm ; but to resist,
contend, and overcome. Her followers must then " put on the
whole armour of God ;" must " blow the trumpet in ZPon," rally
around the divine standard, and conflict " earnestly for the faith,
once delivered to the saints." The mildness of Melancthon will
not here succeed : the strenuousness of Luther is indispensable.
If good men yield, nay, if they condescend, to the opinions,
and customs, of bad men, of whatever nature they may be ;
much more if they form intimate connections, and alliances,
with the licentious ; they give up the cause, which they are sum-
moned to defend. Thus it was in the case before us. From the
concubinage here described, and the lewd dispositions which
gave birth to it, sprang, according to the unchangeable law of
nature, oppression, injustice, contention, irreligion, and the final
abandonment of all duty, and all principle.
In consequence of this general prostration of moral good,
God determined to destroy the race of men. Yet, according to
his abundant long suffering, he allotted to them " one hundred
and twenty years," as an opportunity for repentance and refor-
mation. During this period, probably through the whole of it,
and to this collection of human beings, Noah was " a preacher
of righteousness." His situation, while performing the duties of
his office to this evil generation of men, has often struck me with
very great force ; and appeared to furnish very valuable lessons
of instruction.
To understand, and realize this subject, it will be necessary to
consider, the circumstances, in which Noah was placed. He
was alone in the midst of a world of opposers and enemies. All
the weight of immense numbers ; all the power of example ; all
the force of argument ; ail the efficacy of hatred ; all the pun-
SER. XXVIII.] CHARACTER OF NOAH. 421
gency of scorn, derision, and obloquy ; were, beyond any reason-
able doubt, exerted against him. For support he could look to
nothing but his family, his faith, and his God. He saw, that he
must overcome the world, and every worldly feeling ; or yield to
destruction here, as the commencement of a more terrible de-
struction hereafter. Even his preservation was overcast with
gloom and sorrow. The millions around him were hastening on
to ruin. Among them, in all probability, were numbered many
of his own beloved connections. The catastrophe was approach-
ing with a sure and rapid, as well as dreadful, step. The guilty
beings, who were exposed to this terrible evil, were perfectly at
ease, and heedless of their danger. To these persons his predic-
tions, warnings, and exhortations, were all addressed. On his
part they were accompanied with yearning, anxiety, deep sorrow,
and sore discouragement. On theirs, they were received with
unbelief, gaiety, contempt, and ridicule. Such was the situation
of the preacher ; and such the character of his audience. Let
us see what instruction we may derive from this subject.
1 St. It is evident, that the general Opinion cannot he pleaded
with any force in matters of Religion.
Here the universal opinion of a world was directly opposed
both to the will, and the worship, of God. All plainly forgot
their duty ; disbelieved their God ; and despised his religion.
But the opposition was not the less false, or foolish, because it
was universal. Truth does not cease to' be truth, because it is
uttered, nor duty lose its importance, because it is practised, only
by one man. Nor is falsehood less erroneous, or mischievous,
nor irreligion less guilty, because they are adopted by a world.
At the same time, the opposition was not, on this account, at all
the less ruinous. None gained any thing by the general coun-
tenance. Every one lost and suffered as entirely, as if he had
embarked singly in this opposition.
Noah, in the mean time, was alone. Yet he was right, both in
his opinions and his practice. He held the truth, though he
held it against a world. He performed his duty, although he op-
posed the whole family of Adam. He set his face against ail the
VoE. n. 54
42^2 CONSIDEKxi'l lUNS Ox\ Till:. [SER. XXVlIZ-
wise and learned, the ingenious and eloquent, among mankind,
lie moved onward against the stream of authority, wealth, pow-
er, and grandeur. Still he was a wise and good man ; and all
who opposed him, were fools and sinners.
2dly. The contempt and ridicule, exerted against Religion,
neither prove its falsehood, nor lessen its value.
Noah, we are abundantly warranted to believe, was an object
of contempt to most of his contemporaries. It is at all times
difficult, when we are despised, to escape ridicule. Here it was
impossible. Every one felt himself secure ; and regarded the
alarm sounded by the preacher, as the outcry of enthusiasm,
folly, or frenzy. The " scoffers, who walked after their own
lusts" at that period, exclaimed, not only with more insolence
and contempt, but with better reason, and greater success, than
those of modern times : " Where is the promise of his coming .'
for, since the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were
from the beginning of the Creation." The philosophers of those
days undoubtedly questioned with as much good will, and more
ability, than those among the antient heathen, or the Infidels of
our own times ; the providence, the perfections, and even the
existence, of God. The same "evil heart of unbelief" has ex-
actly the same tendencies, and produces exactly the same effects.
in all ages, and circumstances. But the mind of man was not
improbably possessed, antecedently to the deluge, of a superiour
native capacity, and peculiar strength. The body, which it in-
habited, was certainly composed of nobler materials, and con-
structed on a higher scale ; was nourished by purer aliment, and
inhaled a more healthful atmosphere. Its vigour was such, as
enabled it to endure through a thousand years ; and its faculties
were, in all probabihty, suited to its extended duration. Unhke
the frail, perishing tenements, in which our minds dwell, it passed
through a childhood, youth, and manhood, of eight hundred
years: and throughout this period at least, was full of energy,
and fitted for exertion. With the superiour vigour, and compar-
ative perfection, of such a body, so fitted to aid an active mind
in all its investigations, men sharpened their reasoning powers
SER. XXVIIL] CHARACTER OF NOAH. 423
by exercising them throughout this long period. It may well ho
believed, therefore, that they discovered many objections against
a Revelation from God, and against his being, character, and
works, which modern Infidels have not yet explored ; and han-
dled the weapons of unbelief with a skill and acuteness, to which
they are strangers. In the mean time, we may safely conclude,
that the false philosophy now in vogue, was then far better un-
derstood, and far more successfully employed in their hostilities
against Religion. Almost every argument of this nature, urged
by our own contemporaries, had theii a foundation, and a force,
incomparably superiour to what it can now claim. The date,
assigned to the Creation by Moses, now denied, because the
world must be supposed to have existed more than six thousand
years, could then with a far better face be pronounced false ; be*
cause it could much less reasonably be supposed to have existed
only two thousand years. Life, now considered as sufficiently
desirable to become the only object of rational attention, was
then ten times more valuable, and proportionally more deserving
of regard. Passion and appetite, now declared to be the only
sources of real good, were then influenced by a keener excitement ;
sustained by stronger powers ; and indulged through an im-
mensely greater period. To be a mere animal, now so coveted,
was then beyond measure more deserving of the attachment of
mankind. The aphorism of vice was not then, " Let us eat, and
drink ; for to-morrow we die :" but, " Let us eat, and drink ; for
we shall live forever." Easily, and finally, could men of this
character prove to their own satisfaction, that the world had ex-
isted from eternity ; that the plastic powers of nature were am-
ply sufficient to account for the existence of all the beings which
it contains, without the interference of an Intelligent first cause ;
that, if there was such a cause, he had given men their natural
passions and appetites, and provided means for their gratifica-
tion. As an irresistible consequence, therefore, it was both law-
ful and wise to indulge them ; for this was, plainly, the proper
end of our being. As all that is termed sin, is only the indul-
gence of some passion, or some appetite: and as it was thus
424 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE [SER. XXVIII.
shewn, in every case, to be lawful ; they may be easily believed
to have determined, with Hobbs, that it is lawful to get whatever
we can with impunity ; that nothing is right, but what the Mag-
istrate enjoins, and nothing wrong, but what he forbids ; that
there is no distinction between right and wrong, and no founda-
tion in nature for either : with BoUngh'oke, that the law of na-
ture forbids no lewdness, unless incest in its high degrees : with
Hume, that eloquence, gracefulness, health, cleanliness, taper
legs, and broad shoulders, are virtues ; that a miracle cannot ex-
ist, and that, therefore, there can be no Revelation : with Vol-
taire, either that there is no God, or, if there is one, that he is a
limited being : and, with Godwin, that promiscuous concubinage
was lawful ; marriage an unjustifiable monopoly ; and immortal
life in this world, the only thing necessary to complete the per-
fection of man, easily attainable by the proper use of natural and
moral medicines.
To all these conclusions they were led, with peculiar confi-
dence, by the ease, with which subsistence was acquired, and the
vigourous constitution, which still remained in other things as
well as in man. The curse appears not to have found its com-
pletion, until after the deluge. A part of the paradisiacal state
seems to have continued in the world, until this great catastro-
phe. The frame of man was fitted to endure. The air, which
he breathed, and the food, by which he was sustained, were still
endued with powers, so favourable to longevity, that decay and
death stood aloof, and were hardly realized. The earth, also,
retained, still, so much of the fertility of Eden, as to produce,
spontaneously, not a small part of the subsistence of its inhabi-
tants. Hence industry was almost unnecessary : and life might,
without the fear of want, be chiefly devoted to sloth, and sensual-
ity. The means of pleasure were more easy, and more abun-
dant ; the relish for it was more acute, and the enjoyment was less
interrupted, and protracted through an incomparably greater ex-
tent. Hence every sensual habit became more intense, more
operative, and more absolutely immoveable. The sources of li-
centious sophistry were, therefore, more abundant ; and the ar-
SER. XXVIII.] CHARACTER OF NOAH. 425
guments, derived from them, replenished with superiour strength.
They were also received by such minds \i ith a keener rehsh ; as
being peculiarly important to them, and in a sense indispensable.
The conclusions, which were adopted, must have been admitted,
therefore, without a doubt, and with hardly a solitary e.vception.
At the same time, the considerations, which now have a prima-
ry influence in restraining men from sin, and are triumphantly in-
sisted on in the desk, as the chief dissuasives from hcentiousness
and stupidity, were then prevented of almost all their force. It
was in vain for the preacher of righteousness to urge the vanity
of earthly enjoyments before men, who knew that their enjoy-
ments were not vain ; but sure, abundant, and delightful. It was
in vain to insist on the danger and distress of sickness, before
men, who were never sick. The pangs ol a dying bed were re-
cited to no purpose, where death was seen only at the end of
many centuries. Eternity could scarcely be awful to those, who
either denied its existence, or saw it in dim and misty vision, be-
yond a long succession of future ages. If we suppose a judg-
ment to have been believed ; what influence could it have had on
minds, who saw a kind of immortality spread between them and
their final trial ?
The solitary individual, therefore, who, in these circumstances,
and before these men, attacked lust, denounced sensuality, and
doomed sin to a dreadful retribution, was hated much, and des-
pised more. The finger of scorn pointed out to universal deri-
sion the vain, senseless Enthusiast, who dared to resist all the
wise and great. The hiss of obloquy pursued the dreaming Itin-
erant, who singly advanced his own opinions, against those of the
whole race of men. Wherever he went, he was surrounded by
enemies : wherever he preached, he was heard with sneers. To
every audience his language must have been, " Behold, ye des^-
pisers, and wonder, and perish : for I work a work among you,
which none will believe, though a man declare it unto you."
Religion then^ was almost absolutely what Infidels have tri-
umphantly said it will be, in the course of another age, extermi-
nated from the world. Still, it was true ; still, it was from God.
42G CONSIDERATIONS ON THE [SER. XXVIII.
3dly. Example, although it is that of numbers ever so great^ or
of individuals ever so able, splendid^ or poivcrfid ^ is no proof of
rectitude.
Here all mankind walked in one broad, and crooked road.
'■' The earth was corrupt before God, and was filled with vio-
lence. And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was
corrupt : for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the earth.
And every imagination of the thoughts of man's heart was only
evil continually." " And God said unto Noah, The end of al!
flesh is come before me ; for the earth is filled with violence
through them : and, behold, I will destroy them, with the
earth."
Still " the way" was " broad, and crooked ;" although " many
there were, who went in thereat." It was " the way to hell, go-
ing down to the chambers of death." Thither it led ; there they
all entered ; there they all perished.
Whatever others do, their example will furnish no justification,
and no safety, to us in following them. That, which they do, is
not the less guilty, nor the less dangerous, because they do it :
nor because of their numbers, their talents, their stations, or their
fame. Had Noah followed this world of sinners, would he have
been innocent ? Would he have been safe ? Would he have
been more innocent, or more safe, because the sinners, whom he
followed, were immensely numerous ? Would he ever have en-
tered the ark ? Would he have passed securely over the waves
of destruction ?
4thly. Religion is not less true, less excellent, nor less secure of
the favour of God, because the number of its votaries is small.
Never was that number so small, since the earth first became
extensively inhabited. Yet Noah and his family were distin-
guished by pecuHar proofs of the favour of God. They were se-
lected out of a world of sinners ; and secured in the ark from
the universal ruin. The earth, recovered from destruction, was
given to them, with an absolute dominion over all which it con-
tained. Their sacrifice was graciously accepted. The Lord
smelled a sweet savour in the offering ; established his covenant
SER. XXVIII.3 CHARACTER OF NOAH. 4^7
with them ; in which he was pleased to declare, that "the waters
of Noah should no more return to cover the earth." To confirm
this covenant he " set his bow in the cloud ;" and promised that
he would look upon it, " and remember the everlasting covenant
between God, and every living creature." To these and many
other proofs of the divine favour he finally added the blessings of
immortality : and the faith, approved on earth by these glorious
testimonies, was rewarded beyond the grave with enjoyments,
endless and inexpressible.
othly. Sinners can derive no hope of Safety from their num-
bers.
Perhaps no consideration more strongly contributes to persuade
sinners, that they are safe, than that of their multitude. So far
as I have been able to observe, they feel usually assured, that
God will not destroy such a numerous train of intelligent beings,
as are included under this name. This argument was undoubt-
edly pleaded, before the deluge, as a complete refutation of the
warnings, and predictions, o( Noah. It is easily realized, that it
was advanced with triumph, and considered as decisive. We
can almost hear them say, and say with both the smile, and the
sneer of victory, " Can it be imagined, that God made so many
of his creatures, merely to destroy them." Never could this sug-
gestion be made with equal force ; for the destruction threatened
was almost absolutely universal. Still it was a mere suggestion ;
and those, who made it, were all in fact destroyed. They were
not indeed created, nor any other beings, for destruction, as the
proper end of their existence ; as is here falsely insinuated ; but
beings were here created, who were afterwards actually destroy-
ed for their rebellion and impenitence, notwithstanding this argu-
ment. What was true of these men will be true of all other im-
penitent sinners. Every person of this character, who enters-
the future world in a state of impenitence, is undone. " Without
holiness" no man ever did, " no man ever will, sec the Lord."
6thly. The genuine Faith of the Gospel irilJ resist, finally ami
effectually, all opposition.
423 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE [SER. XXVIU.
" By faitli Noah, being warned of God of things not seen as
yet, moved with fear, prepared an ark, to the saving of his house;
by the which he condemned the world, and became heir of the
righteousness, which is by faith." The faith of Noah was the
faith of the Gospel : the " faith," which " worketh by love ;" the
faith, " which purifieth the heart;" the faith, " which overcomelh
the world." Throughout his life, and particularly for one hun-
dred and twenty years, he resisted the opinions, the practices,
the'^nfluence, and the authority, of a world ; of a race of men
more abandoned, more opposed to Religion, to good men, and
to God, than any other generation, which has lived. But neither
their numbers, their learning, their power, nor their hostility,
could shake his purpose, slacken his labours, or change his char-
acter. So far as we are able to conjecture, there was never
more done to excite unbelief, or subvert faith, in any human
bosom. Never were circumstances, either for their duration or
their efficacy, more fitted to break down so frail a being as man,
than those of Noah. This eminent preacher of righteousness
had all the human feelings. There is not a reason to beheve,
that he loved singularity any better than we ; that he was more
willing to oppose his fellow creatures ; more pleased with hatred
and persecution ; or less sensible to the stings of contempt and
derision. But he looked beyond these ; and saw the glory of his
Maker, his duty to his fellow-men, and the salvation of his own
soul, demanding of him unalterable resistance to this host of
temptations. To the eye of such beings, as those, whom he was
compelled to address, how ridiculous must appear his prediction,
and much more his belief, of an approaching deluge : an event
absolutely unheard of before ; so contrary to all the acknowledg-
ed laws of nature ; for w hich the world itself did not contain a
sufficient quantity of water; for which then, certainly, there
was no visible preparation ; which every philosopher of the day
pronounced to be impossible ; and the arrival of which the
Prophet himself thought proper to postpone for one hundred
and twenty years. Why, if it should come at all, did it not come
sooner. It was true Nooh professed, that he had received a
SEE. XXVIII.] CHARACTER OF NOAH. 429
Revelation concerning this event from God ; but who could ra-
tionally believe that God would reveal his designs to him, rather
than to ten thousand other persons, in every point of view as
worthy and respectable, and in many much more so, than he
was ? Could it be supposed, that the Creator felt such a partial-
ity towards him^ above all the people on the earth ; above men
far greater, wiser, and more respected, than he ? Could he be
weak enough to imagine, that all the millions of the human race,
beside himself and his family, were to be destroyed ; and that
they were to be snatched from the destruction ? Surely none
but the most pitiable bigot, the most hoodwinked enthusiast, the
most contemptible fanatic, could give credit to such a tale.
When he began to build the ark, and thus proved himself in
earnest, the news undoubtedly flew among his neighbours with
rapidity. A work so extraordinary, begun for so singular a pur-
pose, must unquestionably have excited their curiosity, their won-
der, and their contempt, in the highest degree. As he began it
fifty years before the predicted period of the deluge, it undoubt-
edly seemed a ridiculous anticipation even of his own prophecy.
As it demanded the expense of a princely fortune ; as it requi-
red labour, care, and trouble, never before heard of in the world ;
and as all things went on during the whole time just as quietly,
as they had always done, it can scarcely be doubted that he was
the song, the jest, the by word, and the hissing, of all, who be-
held him busied in this employment.
But the faith of Noah met, endured, and triumphed over, all
these evils. Such always in kind, and sometimes in degree, is
the faith of a Christian.
7thly. The preacher^ and the professor^ of Religion must preachy
and live, amidst wicked men as if he were in the midst of Chris-
tians.
The preacher must declare the truth, whether his hearers be-
lieve or disbelieve. The professor must perform his duty, wheth-
er others follow or oppose him. Thus Noah preached and lived.
Perhaps no herald of truth was ever so unsuccessful, so univer-ally
disbelieved, so much the object of scorn and derision. Probably
Vol. II. 55
430 CONSIDERATIONS ON THE [SER. XXVIII
no saint was ever so destitute of companions and supporters.
What audiences must he have uniformly found ? By what neigh-
bours was he surrounded ? What workmen must he have em-
ployed ? What unbelief, what hostility, what contempt, what
mockery, must he have encountered ? How must he have been
wearied of all this opposition and abuse, protracted through one
hundred and twenty years ? Yet he " set his face as a flint" against
this host of difficulties, and this world of opposers. No enemy
terrified him, no difficulty discouraged him. In the path of du-
ty, the straight and narrow way that leads to life, he moved on-
ward with immoveable firmness, and unclouded serenity. God
beheld his course, and smiled upon his faith and fortitude ; sus-
tained him in every trial ; and in every conflict enabled him to
overcome.
Noah preached the revealed will of God, and delivered his
Master's message faithfully. The most painful truths he hesita-
ted not to declare : the most terrible threatenings he denounced
in all their awful import. The wicked, numerous and formidable
as they were, he resolutely warned of the " error of their way;"
and although they did not "turn, and live," yet " he delivered
his own soul." Such will be the preaching of every faithful min-
ister of Christ. Like Noah, he will boldly declare " the truth, as
it is in Jesus ;" and declare it in its purity and simplicity, "wheth-
er they win hear, or whether they will forbear." Afl Christians,
also, will live in some good measure, as Noah lived. Their faith
is the same with his : their fortitude will resemble his. All of
them will not, indeed, be equally firm and faithful ; equally se-
cure at all times from the influence of temptation, and the dan-
ger of backsliding. Still they will " endure unto the end ;" and
under the influence of the Spirit, by whom they are sanctified,
and sustained, and with a consciousness, that " the afflictions of
the present life are not worthy to be compared with the glory,
which shall be revealed hereafter," will fix their eyes upon God, '
the promises of the Gospel, and the blessings of immortality ;
and while they " wait upon the Lord, will renew their strength ;
will mount up with wings, as eagles ; will run, and not be weary;
will walk, and not faint."
sER. XXVIIL] CHARACTER OF NOAH, 431
Stilly. Every Christian, however long^ or severely^ tried in the
present world, is here taught, that his interests are safe in the
hands of God.
The trials of Noah were longer, and more discouraging, than
those of any Christian, The support, the consolation, which was
furnished to him by the objects of time and sense, by his friends,
or by mankind, was comparatively nothing. All these things
were against him. Even his own preservation was in many res-
pects forlorn and comfortless. To anticipate the ravages of an
universal deluge was a most melancholy employment. To be-
hold the ruins of a world ; to be an eye-witness of the destruction
of all the race of Adam ; to ponder the perdition, to which they
were consigned in a future state of being ; must have embittered
deliverance itself, and spread gloom over his own merciful pres-
ervation. Still Noah himself was safe, and his family were safe ;
and all these distressing things were made to " work together
for their good."
There are seasons, in which even good men will despond. All
the waves of sorrow will seem to go over their heads, and the
anchor of hope appear to lose its hold. Health will at times be
impaired ; the spirits will decay : friends will become cold, or
die ; the means of support will recede, or vanish ; the world will
become peculiarly hostile ; Religion will decline ; its professors
will be comparatively few and lifeless ; " the ways of Zion will
mourn ;" the house of God will " sit solitary ;" and its glorious
inhabitant will appear to have withdrawn his presence and his
mercy. In the mean time, the passions and appetites of the
Christian himself will regain their control ; the world will recov-
er its ascendancy ; his energy will sicken ; and his piety will
sleep. Yet even then " the bruised reed" will not be broken,
nor " the smoking flax" extinguished. " Fear not, thou worm
Jacob, saith Jehovah that created thee •, fear not ; for I have re-
deemed thee. I have called thee by my name : thou art mine.
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee ; and
through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee ; when thou walk-
€st through^the fire, thou shall not be burned ; neither shall the
432 «ONSIDERATIONS, &g. [SER. XXVIIL
flame kindle upon thee." " The Spirit of the Lord God is upon
me," saith the Saviour of men, " because the Lord hath anoint-
ed me to preach good tidings unto the meek ; to appoint unto
them, who mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes,
the oil of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for the
spirit of heaviness ; that they may be called Trees of righteous-
ness ; The planting of the Lord ; that he may be glorified." No
child of God is so hidden from the eye, so imperfect in his char-
acter, or of so little value in his sight, as to prevent him from be-
ing known, protected, sustained, and conducted finally to heaven.
It is not improbable, that amidst all his sufferings dangers and
discouragements, amid the enemies, by whom he was surrounded,
and the hostilities, which he was daily called to encounter, the
eminent Saint, whose character we have been investigating, was
often ready to despond, and to feel that his burden was greater
than he could bear. Yet he was safe : and the ruin, which over-
whelmed a world, was unable to reach him. His case is that of
every good man. Not one of those, who wear this name evan-
gelically, will ever be forgotten. To all such men " the founda-
tion of God standeth sure, and has this seal. The Lord knoweth
them that are his." As his, they will be conveyed safely through
life : as his, they will be supported in death : as his, they will be
remembered in " the resurrection of the just." " In his wrath he
may smite them for a small moment ; but with everlasting kind-
ness will he have mercy on them." Amen.
SERMON XXIX.
■^» @ e*
DUTY OF PREACHING THE GOSPEL.
Galatians i. 8, 9,
iBut though loe, or an Angel from Heaven, preach any other
{jiospel unto you, than that which we have preached unto you, let
him he accursed.
As we said before, so say I now again : If any man preach
any other Gospel unto you, than that ye have received, let him' be
accursed.
In these words, we have St. PauPs estimate of the Nature, and
Importance, of the Gospel, as preached by himself. Every rea-
der of the Scriptures must have remarked the peculiar force of
the phraseology, in which it is conveyed. " Even if we, or any
man, or an Angel from Heaven, preach any other Gospel, than
that which we have preached unto you ; let him be anathema."
Let him be separated from the church on earth ; let him finally
be separated from the church in heaven. A crime, on which so
dreadful a sentence is pronounced, must certainly be enormous.
On what is this enormity founded ? On the nature of the Gos-
pel, preached by St. Paul ; the authority, with which it was com-
municated to mankind ; and its comparative excellence, when
examined with relation to any other Gospel. But if these con-
siderations lay the foundation for the enormity of this crime, the
Gospel, preached by St. Paul, must undoubtedly be possessed of
singular and superlative excellence. Our time cannot be unpro-
fitably employed in the serious consideration of a subject, so in-
teresting to us and our fellow meu^
434 DUTY OF [SER. XXIX
The supreme importance of the Gospel, by which I intend the
Scriptures of both the Old and New Testaments, may be exhibi-
ted under the following heads.
I. It is an account of the Designs, and the Works, of Gov.
By these I intend those designs, and works, which are of pe-
culiar importance in the divine system, and by which the divine
character is especially manifested. Such are the Creation of the
Universe ; the Law, by which it is governed -, the great Dispen-
sations of Providence towards the race of Adam ; the Establish-
ment, and Preservation, of the Church ; the Mediation of the
Son of God ; the Agency of the Holy Ghost in renewing the soul
of man ; the General Conversion of mankind to Christianity ; the
Resurrection ; the Conflagration ; the General Judgment ; and
the Final Retribution. These, it is presumed, will be readily ac-
knowledged to be in the number of those designs, and works, by
which the character of the Ruler of the universe is especially dis-
played to intelligent creatures ; and in which what he is pleased
to term his Glory is peculiarly exhibited. The importance of
these Works will be readily acknowledged. The importance of
the Gospel, considered as a Record of them, is visible in the fol-
lowing facts : that it is a true record, and therefore exhibits them
as they are ; that it is a record, dictated by infinite wisdom, and
therefore exhibits them in the wisest and best manner ; and that,
as such a record, it possesses the power of spreading, and actual-
ly spreads, the knowledge of them through periods and places, re-
mote from those in which they exist.
Some of these things took place, either before, or during, the
several ages, in which the Gospel was written. These it pre-
sents to us in historical narratives. The remaining part was, at
the termination of the sacred canon, and to a great extent is still,
future. The several things, included in this division of scriptural
subjects, it presents to us in the language of Prophecy.
If the Gospel had not been written ; all these wonderful, and
most interesting, things would have been concealed from the
knowledge of almost all the human race, during their continuance
in the present world. Of the Creation they would have literally
SER. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 43^
known nothing ; but, as in the past ages of heathenism, would,
at the present time, have been employed in amusing themselves
with dreaming conjectures about this wonderful event; or in
questioning, with Aristotle, its possibility ; or in determining,
with Epicurus, that the universe was formed by a casual con-
course of atoms. Of the Deluge, Noah and his family would
have had the only knowledge, possessed by man : while the great
body of their descendants would have been left, for all their ac-
quaintance with it, to doubtful, vibrating tradition. To the same
dubious instruction must they have been indebted for their ap-
prehensions concerning the Establishment of the Church, and
concerning all the successive dispensations, by which it was pre-
served, distressed, or prospered, down to the days of the apostles.
Of the Redeemer we should have heard, if we had heard at all,
in some such manner, as we have heard of Pythagoras, Zoroaster^
or Confucius ; and regarded him as being, like them severally, the
author of one collection of reveries in the region of conjectural
philosophy. Of future events we should have had no ideas be-
yond the rovings of poetical imagination.
But the Gospel brings all these astonishing subjects to the
knowledge of distant lands, and ages ; and, interesting and amaz-
ing as the works and designs are in themselves, gives most of
them their real consequence to the great body of mankind. By
its aid we travel back, through sixty centuries, to the period when
the world began ; and become eye and ear witnesses of the won-
derful work of Creation. We behold the Maker of all things de-
scending from the highest heaven, surrounded with infinite glo-
ry ; and hear his voice calling into being the formless chaos ; the
light with which it was first illumined, and the firmament by which
it was overspread, as by an immeasurable curtain. The dry
land, and the ocean, are at the same call separated before us :
the earth is instantaneously clothed with the verdure, and beau-
ty, of the spring : and both are peopled with millions of anima-
ted beings, fitted to enjoy that bounty, which supplies " the wants
of every living thing." We behold, also, the sun lighted up ; the
moon commencing her wandering course ; and myriads of star-
43.G DUTY OF [SER. XXIX
kindling their flames in the heavens. With no less astonishment,
we see man rising under the forming hand of the Creator ; and
shewing by his aspect, that he is animated with the breath of
life, and " inspired by the Almighty with understanding." Last
of all, we hear the voice of infinite wisdom pronouncing the vast
work to be " very good ;" and listen to " the songs of the morn-
ing stars, and to the sons of God shouting for joy," while cele-
brating that glorious sabbath, which concluded the divine work,
and became the first type of the everlasting sabbath in the hea-
vens.
In the same manned do we become witnesses of the destruc-
tion of this sinful world by the Deluge ; the terrible devastation
of the cities of the plain by a tempest of fire and brimstone ; and
the overthrow of Egypt by signs and wonders, successively ad-
vancing at the call of Moses. We accompany the Israelites in
their march through the Red Sea ; station ourselves at the foot
of Sinai; behold the mountain compassed with a flame of de-
vouring fire ; and tremble, with the people in the camp, while,
amid the thunders and lightnings, God promulges with his own
voice the Law, which controls all the concerns of the great fami-
ly of Adam.
With the same guide, we enter the stable, in which the Son of
God was born ; and see him, " who is head over all things unto
the Church," wrapped in swaddling clothes, and cradled in a
manger. Surrounded by the shepherds of Bethlehem, we behold
" a light from heaven shining suddenly round about them ;" and
hear a voice from that happy world, proclaiming, " Fear not.
Behold I bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be unto
all people ! For unto you is born, this day, in the city of David,
a Saviour, who is Christ, the Lord !" We listen to " a multitude
of the Heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in
the highest ; and on earth peace : good will towards men." We
accompany this Divine Person through his private life, and pub-
lic ministry ; are witnesses of his baptism and miracles, his glo-
rious wisdom and unspotted holiness ; behold in silent amaze-
ment his agony in the garden : surround him, while he ascends
SER. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 437
the cross ; and follow him to the tomb. " But it is not possible,
that he should be holden of death." An angel descends, "and
rolls away the stone from the sepulchre." He rises triumphant,
from the grave ; ascends through the visible heavens, and finally
vanishes from our sight.
On the wings of Prophecy, we adventure, in the same realizing
manner, into the immeasurable regions of futurity ; and there
listen to the sound of the last trumpet, and the voice of the arch-
angel, summoning the dead to life. The graves open : the earth,
and the ocean, return the innumerable myriads, slumbering in
their recesses : the Redeemer descends : and the universe of an-
gels andiof men is doomed to its final retribution. The last flames
are kindled by the breath of the Almighty : we behold " the earth
.and the visible heavens flee away ; and no place is found for
them any more." With a trembling eye we cast a glance to-
wards the melancholy regions of darkness and sorrow, destined
to receive and embosom the impenitent workers of iniquity : and
rise with ecstacy, to see the " everlasting gates" of life and im-
mortality " lift up their heads, that the King of glory may enter
in," together with a " multitude" of his happy followers, " which
no man can number, of all nations, kindreds, and tongues." We
behold them surround the throne of the majesty in the heavens ;
and hear them unite their harps and voices in the eternal song ;
" Blessing, and honour, and glory, and power, be unto our God,
who sitteth on the throne, and unto the Lamb, forever, and ever.
Amen."
Thus the Gospel brings the earth with all its mighty dispensa-
tions, hell with its amazing terrors, and heaven with its end-
less glories, before our eyes. Thus it presents God to us in all
the awful, and all the endearing, displays of his character. It is
the history of the actions of Jehovah. Without it, these actions
would in a sense be nothing to us. Too distant to be reahzed,
too obscure to be discerned with clearness or certainty ; they
would be unheeded and unknown. This divine book spreads the
knowledge of Jehovah through the world. It is the temple, in
which He delights to dwell ; the mercy-seat, from which He gives
Vol. it. 5G
438 DUTY OF [SER. XXIX
oracles of peace to enquiring mankind. The race of Adam arr
the congregation, gathered before it, to ask counsel of God ;
and the answers are given, not to a single, solitary tribe, but to
the universe of man.
II. The Gospel contains the will of God concerning our duty
and salvation.
Here, and here alone, we find the immutable and eternal Law,
by which intelligent beings are governed. It is comprised in
these two great commands : " Thou shalt love the Lord thy God.
with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength,
and with all thine understanding : and thou shalt love thy neigh-
bour as thyself." These wonderful precepts bear on tlieir very
face the stamp of divinity. They are so short and so plain, as
to be easily understood, remembered, and applied to his own cir-
cumstances, by every intelligent creature ; and so comprehensive,
as to include within their grasp all rational beings, and all the
endless variety of their thoughts, words, and actions, and to con-
trol alike the child and the seraph. Every duty is required b)
them : every sin is forbidden.
This holy and perfect Law we violated ; and thus apostatized
from our duty to God, and lost every hope of his favour. To
man in this situation the Gospel publishes the will of God con-
cerning our Restoration to that favour ; prescribing the duties to
be performed, and the means to be employed, for this all impor-
tant purpose. This will, in both cases, is alike the will of Jeho-
vah ; invested with infinite authority, and excluding all interfer-
ence on the part of men or angels. Every addition to it, every
variation from it, " is strange fire, which the Lord hath not com-
manded." The authors of it are the progeny of Nadab and
Abihu : and neither their sacrifice, when burnt with this fire, nor
their persons, when employed in kindling it, can be accepted of
Goo.
III. The Gospel proposes as its great object the most valuable
of all Ends to 'man ; the sahation of the soul.
The soul of man is an Intelligent and Moral Existence, made
capable of knowing, loving, and serving his Creator. In its own
iER. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 139
nature it is immortal. It will, therefore, survive the ruins of the
world, and the ravages of time; and will flourish with indestruct-
ible vigour, when " the heavens shall be no more." In this
world both its enjoyments and sufferings are mingled, and partial.
Beyond the grave, it will be only miserable, or only happy ; and
both the happiness and misery will continue forever.
But its happiness will not be merely eternal. As its knowledge
increases, its virtue will become more exalted, and its enjoyment
more intense, throughout the boundless ages of its existence.
There is no limit, which it will not ultimately reach : there is no
finite elevation, to which it will not ultimately ascend. Think,
to what a mass of guilt, and woe, endless sin and endless misery
will amount. Think what an accumulation of happiness, what
splendour of virtue, will adorn the ever-growing progress of a
sanctified mind. How plainly will the former exceed all that has
been suffered by this sinning world ? How soon will the latter
leave out of sight the whole assemblage of virtues, the whole
combined enjoyment found beneath the sun. From these pre-
mises it is irresistibly concluded, that the worth of the soul is ht-
erally boundless. Accordingly, He, " who is the brightness of
the Father's glory, and the express image of his person, who of
old laid the foundations of the earth, and garnished the heav-
ens," yet to save the soul " from going down to the pit," volun-
tarily " emptied himself" of his external glory ; " took upon him
the form of a servant ; and was made in the hkeness of men.
And being found in fashion as a man, he became obedient unto
death ; even the death of the cross." The end of his divine
mission, he has declared, was to " seek and save, that which was
lost." Nay, he has expressly taught us, that " there is joy in
heaven over the repentance" and recovery of one lost soul, "more
than over ninety and nine just persons, who need no repentance."
For the same divine purpose, the Spirit of Grace has de-
scended to this world, to renew and sanctify the soul of man,
and thus complete its title to endless life. In this manner, the
Father of all mercies, who " gave his Son to die," that we might
hve, and sent his Spirit, to renew us, that we might become ob=
440 DUTY OF [SER. XXIX.
jects of his complacency, and heirs of his eternal kingdom ; has
set his seal upon the worth of the soul ; and declared it to pos-
sess a value, which no numbers can estimate.
But all the worth of the soul is involved in its salvation. In
this is the Father pre-eminently glorified. In th;s is the object of
the mediation of Christ, and of the mission of the Divine Spirit,
illustriously accomplished. When, therefore the Gospel makes
the salvation of man its end ; it exhibits itself as of inestimable
worth, and incomprehensible excellence ; as a favourite work of
Wisdom and goodness, literally divine.
IV. The Gospel is the Means of accomplishing this end.
Of this the proof is complete. Wherever the Gospel has
been published, and embraced, religion has existed, and prosper-
ed. Wherever the Gospel has been unknown, religion has also
been unknown. The Gospel is the rain and sun-shine of heaven
upon the moral world. Wherever its beams are shed, and its
showers fall, " the wilderness blossoms as the rose ; and the des-
ert as the garden of God :" while the world beside is an Arabian
waste, where no fountains flow, and no verdure springs ; and
where life itself fades, languishes, and expires. The Gospel is
all these means. " His divine power," saith St. Peter, " has free-
ly given us all things, which pertain," or are necessary, " to life
and godliness." The work is complete. It is such a work, as
GoD himself thought best adapted to the accomplishment of the
glorious end. Accordingly, man, though busily employed for this
purpose, has not, throughout the long period, which has succee-
ded the publication of the Gospel, been able to add any thing
either to its doctrines, or its precepts. It may be asserted, with-
out hesitation, or hazard, that no doctrine, nor precept, of human
philosophy has ever been subsidiary to this purpose, or contribu-
ted in a single instance, or in the least degree, to the salvation
of man. The philosophy of the ancient heathen was totally des-
titute even of the semblance of piety ; the first and great ingre-
dient of virtue, and the basis of all other virtue. It was, there-
fore, radically lame, and fatally defective. Accordingly, in the
opinion of Cicero hnnself, the best judge of this subject, perhaps,
SER. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 441
whom the world has ever seen, it never reformed either the phi-
losophers themselves, or their pupils : not, as this great man ob-
serves, in a single instance. Infidel philosophy has been still
more deficient and profligate. All that has been better in it has
been borrowed from the Bible. All that has been worse has flow-
ed from the hearts of its authors. It ought to be added, that
neither of these classes has laboured, at all, to promote the ref-
ormation of mankind : a work hitherto confined wholly to Christ,
the prophets, the apostles, and their followers.
From these observations it is evident, that the Gospel is ines-
timably important and valuable. It is " the wisdom of God, and
the power of God, unto salvation." It is a divine record of the
Character, and Works, of the Infinite Mind ; of those works, in
which that Character is pre-eminently displayed. It is the Will
of God, and his whole Will, concerning the Duty, and Restora-
tion, of mankind. The End, which it proposes, and accomplish-
es, is divine : and the Means, which it furnishes for the accom-
plishment of this end, are, on the one hand, the best and most
efficacious, and, on the other, supremely honourable in their na-
ture to the wisdom of their Author. His instructions and pre-
cepts are in themselves infinitely excellent. To us, as the means
of holiness, and as guides to endless life, they are possessed of in-
finite value.
If these observations convey to this audience the same evidence
concerning this subject, which they claim in my own mind ; it
will be impossible for them not to feel, in a very forcible manner,
the declaration, made by St. Paul in the text. It will be impos-
sible for you, my brethren, not to feel, that the Gospel is hallow-
ed ground ; and not to ask, " What man, what angel, shall dare
to intrude upon it, unbidden, unallowed, of his Maker ? Who-
ever enters the desk, for the solemn purpose of exploring this sa-
cred field ; you will instinctively say to him, " Take thy shoe from
oS thy foot : for the place, whereon thou standest, is holy." The
Gospel is the temple of God ; into the courts of which neither
Jew, nor Gentile, can enter without the permission of Him, who
has consecrated it to his own honour and worship ! It is " the
442 DUTY OF [SER. XXIX.
Holy of Holies ;" the peculiar residence of Jehovah himself!
What man, what angel, shall venture into this awful recess, and
place himself on the mercy-seat by the side of his Maker ? Who,
with a still more desperate madness, if madness can be more des-
perate, shall thrust himself, in Jehovah's stead, into the bosom
of the Shechinah ; and thence utter, as the oracles of this glori-
ous Being, the presumptuous dictates of his own reason, and the
wretched dreams of his own imagination ?
Suppose an Angel engaged in this impious employment ; and,
shorn of all his piety, glory and beauty, already commencing the
unnatural, the monstrous, task of modelling anew the Word of
God. Of what nature, we ask, are his instructions to be ? Shall
he change the Divine Law 1 Shall he declare to mankind, that
they shall not, henceforth, " love the Lord, their God, with, all
their heart ; nor their neighbour as themselves :" and thus insti-
tute a new rule of righteousness, for the government of the moral
universe ? Shall he compound a new kihd of virtue, unknown,
or uncommanded, of his God ? Will he bind the Creator to ap-
prove, and reward, it ? Shall he adventure still farther ; and
change, and lessen, the Penalty of this Law ; and repeal the
curse, which it denounces against transgressors ? Shall he pro-
claim to fallen man new terms of Restoration to the divine fa-
vour ? Shall he say, that " there is some other Name under Hea-
ven, given among men, whereby they must be saved ?" Shall he
say, that " God hath not set forth Christ to be a propitiation
through faith in his blood;" that we are not "justified freely by
grace, through the redemption that is in him ;" that " a man"
need not "be born again,'' in order to "enter into the kingdom
of God ;" that " by works of righteousness, which we have done,
he saved us ;" and not " according to his mercy," nor " by the
washing of regeneration, and the renewing of the Holy Ghost ?"
Shall he declare, that " he, who hath begun a good work in us,
will not perform it unto the day of Christ V
To what end would he declare these things ? And what
would be the consequences of his declarations ? Would God
jegard them ? Would he hate sin less ? Would he punish sin-
SER. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 443
ners with less severity ? Would he accept them on easier terms '.
He has declared, that " heaven and earth shall sooner pass away,
than one jot, or one tittle, of the law," by which sinners are tried,
and condemned, " shall pass, until all be fulfilled." Would He
annul, would he change, the whole, or a jot, or a tittle, of it, at
the bidding of a creature ?
Should we be profited ? Would our sins be more easily wash-
ed away ? Would our souls be forgiven, justified, and sanctifiedj
on easier terms ? Would our escape from hell be rendered more
hopeful ? Would the doors of heaven more readily open, to ad-
mit unbelieving and impenitent sinners 1 In what respect would
the new Law render our condition better ; our hopes brighter ;
or our future being more desirable ?
Would not the Creator, would not the whole virtuous universe,
exclaim with a single voice ; '• Who art thou, that repiiest against
God ? Hast thou an arm like God ; or canst thou thunder with
a voice like Him ? Wilt thou also disannul his judgment ? Wilt
thou condemn him, that thou mayest be righteous ? Shall he
that contendeth with the Almighty instruct Him ? He that re-
proveth God, let him answer it." Would they not ask with in-
dignation, " Canst thou by searching find out God ? Canst thou
find out the Almighty unto perfection ? It is high as heaven,
what canst thou do ; deeper than hell, what canst thou know ?
The measure thereof is longer than the earth, and broader than
the sea."
If an angel could not change the Gospel in these mighty par-
ticulars ; could he, with more success, alter it in others ? The
Record, which it contains of the Divine conduct, is now true.
Shall an Angel be employed in falsifying it ? Those actions of
the Creator are now recorded, which Infinite Wisdom thought
proper to select. Shall an Angel erase them ; and substitute
others in their stead ?
Or shall he with a daring hand efface the Prophecies, contain-
ed in this sacred volume ? There was a period, in which an An-
gel exclaimed in the heavens, " Who is worthy to open the Book,"
containing the future designs of Jehovah, " and to loose the
444 DUTY OF [SER. XXIX
seals thereof?" There was a period, when it was answered, that
" no one in heaven, nor in earth, nor under the earth, was able
to open the book, neither to look thereon." There was a period,
when heaven resounded with hymns of exultation and rapture,
because the " Lamb, who is in the midst of the throne," assumed
this stupendous office ; opened the book ; and loosed its seven
seals. Is any Angel, at the present time, more able, or more
worthy, to understand, or unfold, the designs of his Maker ?
Finally. Shall the angel in question undertake to correct the
Words, which the Wisdom of God has chosen, for the purpose of
communicating his pleasure ; substitute for them new and better
phraseology ; call in question their propriety ; change their real
and obvious meaning; and make them speak what was never
intended by their Author ? Shall he thus sit as a critic on his Ma-
ker; review his works ; and pronounce an authoritative judgment
concerning the truth or the erroneousness, the wisdom or the folly,
the beauty or the deformity of that, which has been written by
the finger of God ?
There was a time, when even Angels fell ; and fell, by aspiring
to the prerogatives of God. The attempt changed them into
fiends ; and hurried them down from heaven into the regions of
darkness and despair. Such an effort can never be made in that
glorious world, a second time. Among all the exalted beings,
who inhabit it, there is not one, who would not be filled with hor-
ror at the bare thought of thus ascending the throne of God,
and snatching the sceptre out of his hand. A single wish of this
nature would extinguish forever the immortal beauty of his char-
acter ; shroud in eternal darkness his glorious destinies ; and
change the heaven within him into a hell.
But, my brethren, if an Angel may not intrude upon this awful
employment, how much more unbecoming, preposterous, and
profane, must be the intrusion of Man. Angels were originally
possessed of vast powers, and the noblest opportunities for im-
proving them. They were brought into existence in the highest
heavens ; have from the beginning surrounded the throne, and
stood in the presence of God ; and for many thousand years have
SER. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 445
executed the pleasure, studied the works, and learned the char-
acter of their Maker. Their minds, therefore, great and exalted
at first, have been wonderfully expanded and ennobled during
this long succession of ages. Their dispositions, at the same
time, are conformed to the dictates of perfect rectitude ; and
are fitted, therefore, to advance in the acquisition of knowledge
and wisdom, with unrivalled celerity. Their application, also,
neither sleep, nor weakness, nor weariness, interrupts. Their
energy, neither age nor activity can lessen.
Men, on the contrary, are of yesterday ; the offspring of dust ;
and allied to worms, and corruption. Their faculties are feeble ;
their knowledge stinted; their dispositions alienated from truth;
and their views darkened by prejudice and passion. To them
error is congenial, and sin an object of choice. How impudent,
how absurd, how monstrous then, must such a being appear,
when thrusting himself into the province of his Maker, and dic-
tating another- Gospel to mankind. There have, however, been
those among our iT§pe, who, in the early days of the church, as-
sumed this office in form ; and boldly wrote, and published,
" other Gospels," than those written by the Evangelists. The
period of these forgeries is long since past. But modern times
have furnished many proofs of the spirit by which they were
dictated.
There are two modes, in which a Gospel may be preached, dif-
fering essentially from that of Paul The words may be chang'
ed, and, tog-ether with them, the doctrines, and precepts ; or the
doctrines, and precepts, may be changed; lohile the words are
permitted to continue the same. The Gospel is the true meaning
of the Gospel; not the terms, in which it is written. The words
may be considerably varied, and yet the meaning not be altered ;
and are valuable, only because they express and preserve that
meaning. The preachers of modern times have not, in any
great degree attempted, as plainly they could not attempt with
any hope of success, to change the words of the Gospel. All
their wishes to substitute another Gospel for that which came
from heaven, have terminated in efforts to change the meaning
Vol. IL 57
446 DUTY OF [SER. XXIX,
of its doctrines and precepts. Of these efforts, at the present
time, there is certainly no scarcity.
The preacher, who forms and expresses different views of the
Character, Law, and Government, of God ; of the Character,
and Mediation of Christ ; and of the Terms of salvation ; from
those, which are presented to us in the Scriptures, preaches a
Gospel, differing just so far from that of St. Paul. If his views
of these subjects are essentially different from those exhibited in
the Scriptures ; his Gospel will be essentially different ; because
these are the fundamental subjects of revelation. If, for exam-
ple, the Scriptures declare the Character, and Law, of God to
be perfect: if they assert, that " he worketh all things after the
counsel of his own Will ;" and that " every one, who continueth
not in all things, written in the book of the law to do them, is ac-
cursed :" if they declare Christ to be " God over all things, and
blessed forever," and to be the Creator, Preserver, Proprietor,
Ruler, and Judge, of the Universe : if they testify that " except
we repent, we shall all perish ;"" that " he who l^^lieveth'' on Christ,
with the faith, which " worketh by l<jve, shall be saved ;" and
that " he, who believeth not, shall be condemned ;" that " we are
justified by grace, through faith in the Redeemer ;" that, unless
" we are born again of the Spirit of God, we cannot enter into
his kingdom ;" and that without the love, required by the divine
law, we are, in the spiritual sense, nothing : then the preacher,
who contradicts these declarations, or, in other words, exhibits
doctrines, and precepts, opposed to these, preaches another Gos-
pel, than that of Paul.
But, my brethren, this work is not always done in a manner so
complete. In far the greater number of instances it is partially
done. Many preachers reject parts of the Gospel ; and receive
other parts. Some profess to relish the precepts, who yet find
much difficulty in admitting the doctrines. Some contend earn-
estly for the doctrines, who seem to have little relish for the pre-
cepts. By inculcating one of these classes of scriptural commu-
nications, and neglecting the other, the preacher, by degrees, im-
presses on the minds of his congregation, more forcibly than he
S;ER. XXIX. ] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 447
could easily do in any other manner, a conviction, that tliat,
which he neglects^ is of no serious importance. In this way, a
multitude of preachers persuade those, who hear them, that the
doctrines of the Gospel deserve little attention ; and another
multitude, that the precepts are of the same insignificant char-
acter.
Another set of preachers, of which the present period may
boast its full share, enter the desk, to exhibit themselves., if we
may be permitted to judge, rather than the Gospel. These men
are, frequently, not deficient with respect to their orthodoxy ; and
trespass in the Manner^ and the End, of their preaching more
than in their doctrines, or precepts. The End, which they ap-
pear to propose, is the display of their talents, for the entertain-
ment of their hearers. The Manner, in which they attempt to
accomplish this end, h n^WiiWy ^oxmQd oi metaphysical disquisi-
tions ; or brilliant appeals to the imagination, and powerful ad-
dresses to the passions. That Ministers should employ the whole
energy of reason, fancy, and feeling, to elucidate divine truth to
the understanding, and to impress it on the heart, is not only al-
lowed, but, in my apprehension, demanded, by the Scriptures.
The hearer, to vt^hora the doctrines and duties of the Gospel are
not exhibited in a clear manner, and proved by solid argument,
will never be stable in his belief, nor in his practice ; will easily
be driven about by every wind of doctrine ; and become, regu-
larly, a prey to every specious sectary. The Truth of God, only,
can make men free from the bondage of sin. But, to produce
this effect ; it must be shown, and seen, to be truth. This must
be done by the clear light, and sound reasonings, of common
sense, obvious to the general apprehension, and incomparably
more satisfactory than those nice and subtile discriminations,
which, invisible to the common eye, serve only to display the
preacher's ingenuity, and to excite popular applause.
He also, who is taught only to understand, and not to feel, the
truths of the Gospel, however rational and just may be his views,
will ever be in danger of regarding those truths with a cold as-
sent, and stupid indifference. To prevent this incalculable evil.
448 DUTV OF [SER. XXIX.
no method ought to be left untried, to quicken tiie apprehension,
rouse the conscience, and move the heart. Of these two great
constituents of Evangelical Preaching the apostles, particularly
Paul, have left us the most honourable examples.
But, when the object of a Preacher is to exhibit himself with
advantage, he will reason, not to make his hearers understand
the truth of God, but to make them admire his own powers of
reasoning ; will cull fine images of fancy, and pour out warm
effusions of feeling, not to render the truth, which he preaches,
pungent and efiicacious, but to command applause for his bril-
liancy, and eloquence. In both these cases, the preacher be-
comes an Actor ; and his sermons a mere amusement for the day.
This, to say the least, is not to preach as Paul preached. His
Gospel was formed, wholly, to instruct, convince, awaken, and
convert, sinners : a work, which, I am afraid, is not to be hoped
from either of the modes of preaching, which have been here rep-
rehended.
The doctrines of the Gospel are painful, the precepts of the
Gospel are burdensome, to unrenewed men : for both contradict
their wishes, awaken their consciences, and excite the most
alarming apprehensions concerning their future destiny. Still
they are the doctrines and precepts of God. Of course, they
are true, and right. It is therefore your duty, my brethren, to be
willing, to be desirous, that Ministers should preach them to you.
You are not permitted by your Maker to have itching ears. You
are not permitted to " heap to yourselves teachers after your own
lusts." You may not refuse to endure sound doctrine. You
may not " turn away your ears from the truth, nor be turned unto
fables." You cannot lawfully, you cannot safely, " say to the
seers, ' See not,' and to the prophets, ' Prophesy not unto us
right things : speak unto us smooth things ; prophesy deceits.' "
" Get ye out of the way ; turn aside out of the path ; cause the
Holy One of Israel to cease from before us." As they are bound
to speak the truth ; you are under the same solemn, and indis-
pensable obligations to receive and welcome, to believe and obey,
every thing which they preach, so far as it was preached by Paul
SEE. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 449
It may indeed contradict, not unfrequently, your former opinions,
as well as your present wishes. Should this be the fact, those
wishes are wrong, and those opinions false. But false opinions
and wrong wishes can never adA'ance you a step towards heaven.
The only effect of both will be your ruin. " To the law, then,
and to the testimony." If Ministers do not speak, if you do not
believe, this word ; it is because there is no light in them, nor in
you.
Were an Angel from heaven to bring you a message from your
Creator ; were he to come with the splendour, in which one of
these glorious beings exhibited himself to the prophet Daniel ;
" his loins girded with the fine gold of Uphaz, his body like the
beryl, his face as the appearance of lightning, his eyes as lamps
of fire, his feet as polished brass, and the voice of his words as
the voice of a multitude :" you would probably quake like the
companions of Daniel, " and flee to hide yourselves ;" or, like
the prophet himself, would stand trembling ; your strength van-
ished, " and your comehness turned into corruption." If you
should be able to command yourselves sufficiently to hear his
message ; with what solemn attention, with what profound awe,
with what eager solicitude, would you listen to the heavenly mes-
senger, and catch every word which fell from his tongue." Which
of you would dispute his doctrines? Which of you would ques-
tion his precepts 1 Is there a man in this assembly, who would
insult the divine herald by telling him, that his declarations did
not harmonize with the decisions of human philosophy ; that
they were hard sayings, gloomy and discouraging in their nature,
and terrible in their import ? Is there an individual, who would
reply, that great and learned men had thought differently from
him ; or who would satisfy even himself in refusing to obey the
voice of this wonderful preacher by recollecting, that he was
contradicted by Hume and Voltaire, by Arius and Socinus ?
Is there a person present, who would feel himself justified in
declining, or neglecting, to comply with the precepts brought by
this illustrious being, until a future and more " convenient sea-
son ?" Should he command you " now to repent, and believe the
450 DUTY OF [SER. XXIX.
Gospel ;" would you not feel, that you were indispensably, bound
to obey? should he require you now to "love the Lord, your God,
with all the heart, and your neighbour as yourselves ;" would you
feel excused, in prolonging your impiety, or your injustice ; your
avarice, ambition, or sensuality ? Should he announce the Mes-
siah as your Saviour, as the only " propitiation for the sins" of
men ; and require you " with the heart to believe" in him " unto
righteousness, and with the mouth" to make " confession" of him
" unto salvation ;" could you feel any longer safe in your unbe-
lief, or your refusal to " confess Christ before men ?" My breth-
ren, Angels have actually declared, in substance, all these things
to mankind. The " Law was given by the disposition of Angels ;"
and Angels announced the Redeemer to Daniel and Zechariah,
to Joseph, Mary, and the shepherds of Bethlehem. x
Convey yourselves in imagination to yonder burying ground.
Behold the earth heave beneath your feet, the grave unfold its
secret chambers, and a white-robed inhabitant of the unseen
world ascend before your eyes from its silent recesses. Hear him
proclaim to you, alternately, awful and delightful tidings of heav-
en and hell ; and inform you, that within a few years you will
inhabit one or the other of these worlds of retribution, and
spend your immortal being in unutterable happiness or misery.
Listen, while he subjoins the most affecting admonitions concern-
ing your guilt and your danger ; and warns you to " flee from the
wrath to come," and to " lay hold on eternal life." Can you be
insensible to the persuasions of the awful stranger ? Can you
sport, or wander, or sleep, beneath the sound of a voice, which
addresses you from the tomb? My Brethren, the Gospel was, in
substance, all declared by one " who rose from the dead." These
very tidings he brought from the invisible world. These very ad-
monitions, these very exhortations, he now addresses to you from
heaven ; and repeats them every day you live.
Remember, my brethren, I intreat you to remember, that nei-
ther the glory and majesty of an Angel, nor the awful character,
and alarming appendages, of a person rising from the grave,
could change at all the nature or the importance of the message.
SER. XXIX.] PREACHING THE GOSPEL. 451
which either might bring to you. These beings, I acknowledge,
would probably deeply effect and terrify you. Still, the mes-
sage, which they would bring, and the God, by whom they were
sent, would alone be the objects, supremely and finally interest-
ing to you. This message you now have, sent by the same God,
from whom they must both derive their commission. He has di-
rected, that it shall be weekly delivered to you by your fellow
men ; men, not risen from the grave, but sharing the same life,
and the same infirmities, with yourselves. Still, it is no less a
message from him, no less clothed with his authority, no less in-
teresting to your eternal welfare. Your Minister is obliged to
deliver it exactly as he has received it, " whether you will hear,
or whether you will forbear." You by the same authority are
obliged to embrace and obey it ; and can refuse, or neglect, it
only at your peril. The terrible aneithema, pronounced against
him, or against an Angel, should either preach any other Gospel,
will be pronounced against you, if you do not welcome it in your
hearts, and fulfil its precepts in your lives.
There is a day approaching, in which you, and all other con-
gregations, and their Ministers, will meet together before " the
Judge of the quick and the dead !" How solemn, how affecting,
must be this interview ! How transcendantly important will then
appear the connection, which, in this world, has existed between
Ministers and their people ! Every Minister is here constituted by
Christ the shepherd of his flock, " to watch for their souls, as one
that must give an account ;" to feed them with tlie bread of hfe;
and to conduct them through this wilderness to the regions of
everlasting rest ! They are committed to him by the same Di-
vine Person ; that, under his pastoral care and guidance, they
may direct their path to the kingdom above ! How important
will it then appear, that these divine purposes should have been
accomplished ? No emotions will be more intense, than those,
which this last, solemn meeting will produce. The day, the
scene, the Judge, the assembly, the trial, the sentence, togeiher
with its affecting grounds, and amazing consequences, will lend
it a force and distinction immensely great and awful ! What
452 ;DUTY of preaching the gospel. [SER. XXIX.
emotions must move the heart of that Minister, who, surround-
ed by his own flock, is compelied to declare to the Judge of
all the earth, that he has preached another Gospel, than that
which was preached by Paul ; that he has neglected, withheld,
and falsified, the Truth of God ; that he has substituted, in its
place, his own dogmas, speculations, and wishes ; that he has
deceived, misguided, and turned away from heaven, the feet of
his flock ; that he himself, assuming the office of guiding them
to eternal life, has, with a faithless, unfeeling heart, and a
treacherous hand, led them down to the chambers of death !
With what emotions must his flock hear this terrible rehearsal ;
and see themselves conducted to perdition by the very man, who
ought to have gone before them to endless life !
On the contrary, with what views will the mind expand, with
what transport will the heart throb, of that Minister, who, on this
tremendous occasion, can look back, with the serene sunshine
of the soul, upon a life, faithfully devoted to the service of God,
and a Ministry, employed in proclaiming the Gospel of his Son
to mankind ? How must he glow, and exult, while with hum-
ble confidence he approaches the throne of Judgment, in the
midst of his beloved Charge, and joyfully pronounces, " Behold
here am I, and the Children whom thou hast given me ?" With
what unspeakable delight will he read in their eyes, their grati-
tude, their aflfection, and their triumph ! What a blessing will
it then seem to them, to have been committed to his care ? Uni-
ted to an assembly, so beloved on earth, he will regard the glory
of immortal life as peculiarly endeared, and heaven itself as
adorned with additional beauty, and more intense joy ! Instead
of trembling in expectation of the terrible anathema in the text,
he, and they, will only draw near, to be pronounced " good and
faithful servants ;" declared to have " well done ;" and com-
manded to " enter into the joy of their Lord." The gates of life
will spontaneously unfold, to receive them ; and the angelic host
will welcome their arrival with pecuHar gratulation.
If a minister, and his people, wish for such a close of their ac-
cepted time ; he must faithfully preach ; and they must cordially
embrace, the Gospel, preached by Paul.
SERMON XXX.
THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE OF THE GOSPEL,
A SERMON PREACHED APRIL 8, 1812, AT THE ORDINATION OF
REV. NATHANIEL W. TAYLOR.
I. Peter i, 12,
— Which things angels desire to look into.
The things, of which St. Peter speaks in this passage, are ex-
plained by him in the context. They are styled, The salvation
of the soul^ the reward of faith; the things testified by the Spirit
of Christ concerning his sufferings, and the glory that shoidd fol-
low them ; and the things, which had been reported, or announ-
ced, to the Christians of lesser Asia, by those who had preached
the Gospel to them, with the Holy Ghost, sent down from heaven ^
that is, by those whose preaching had been accompanied by the
inspiration, and miracles, of the Holy Ghost ; in other words, by
Paul and his immediate companions ; the preachers, who prin-
cipally carried the news of salvation into that country. To him,
who is willing to bestow even the slightest attention upon this
various phraseology, it will be evident, that these things can be
no other than the sum, and substance, of the Gospel.
Into these things angels are here said to desire to look. The
Cherubim in the tabernacle, whose wings overshadowed the mer-
cy-seat, were formed in a bending posture ; with their faces look-
ing down on this divine symbol, as if earnestly desirous to pry
into the wonders, which it represented. In the text, "angels," it
is said, a/yyiXoi,, (uot oto^yfjiot, the angels,) "desire to look into
these things," m d mtevfitsvaiv a/yysxoi tta^axv^M : " into which things
angels earnestly desire to stoop ;" in other words, " into which
Vol. II. 58
254 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX
things angels earnestly desire to pry, with the most attentive in-
vestigation."
By angels, here, is denoted the whole Host of heaven, involving
all lis orders, and dignities: the rehsh for the object of inquiry
being the same to all, and the spirit of investigation the same.
If these exalted beings are thus desirous to search into the
Gospel, and the system of religion which it contains ; it is be-
cause the precepts, and doctrines, which it unfolds, and the facts,
which it declares, merit their inquisition. The intellect, and the
circumstances, of angels are such, as to prevent them from error.
Their minds are indeed finite ; and their knowledge must, there-
fore, have its boundaries. Still they admit nothing but truth ;
and, so far as their capacity enables them to understand any sub-
ject, they see it as it is. They have no bias, no prejudice, no in-
ordinate desires. The love, which is enjoined in the Gospel upon
men ; which is declared to be the fulfilling of the law; and which
reigns in their minds with an absolute and undivided dominion ;
rejoices in the truth ; and prompts them to embrace it always,
and alone, wherever it may be found.
At the same time, these exalted beings are possessed, also, of
the most noble and refined taste. Their relish is as regularly
conformed to truth, as theii^ intellect. Nothing little can engross
their attention : nothing debased can give them pleasure. AH
the objects, which they relish, are of course important, and valu-
able. When, therefore, we are informed, that the Gospel is an
object of their earnest investigation ; we are also informed, that
it is an object of supreme value, and importance.
It is to be remembered, that, when the text was written, these
celestial beings had been employed in studying the subjects, con-
tained in the Gospel, more than four thousand years. From the
time, when it was first published in the sentence, denounced on
the serpent who deceived our first parents, to the day, in which
his head was bruised by the Redeemer of mankind in the com-
pletion of the work, which he came to accomplish, they had
watched the progress of this divine system of dispensations with
the most minute, and critical, examination. During this long
SER. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 455
period also, they had been voluntarily, and actively, employed,
as ministering spirits, in carrying the designs, which it involved,
into execution. In this manner they acquired a knowledge of
the Gospel, which was in many respects experimental -, and un-
derstood it far more perfectly, than even they could have done in
the exercise of mere speculation. Besides, they had dwelt, dur-
ing this period at least, in the highest heavens. Heaven, the
place both of their birth, and their residence, is not only the na-
tive region of truth, but also the scene of the most sublime and
glorious dispensations in the universe. In that world all the
wonders of Providence are consummated. In that world the
perfections of God are manifested in their supreme beauty, splen-
dour, and greatness. Every thing which it contains is refined ;
every thing is noble ; every thing is for ever improving. But,
after all their acquaintance with the glories of heaven, angels
earnestly desired to look into the things, which are contained in
the Gospel.
The wonder, excited by this fact, will be lessened, if we re-
member, that " God created all things by Jesus Christ, to the in-
tent, that now unto principalities, and powers, in heavenly places,
might be known, Sia tf^ ixx-Kfiava?, by means of the Church, ij noxv-
Hoixooi ao^ia OsH, the immensely various wisdom of God." Such
apposite, and advantageous, means of exhibiting the divine wis-
dom to principalities, and powers, in heavenly places, were in-
volved in this system of dispensations to the Church, that the Most
High deemed it a sufficient reason for the creation of all things.
With this consideration in view, we cannot think it strange, that
the system of the Gospel should command the researches of an-
gels ; since God has thus clearly indicated, that they will here
find displays of his manifold wisdom, which will enlighten their
understanding, and exalt their views, after all their acquaintance
with the dispensations of heaven. Our wonder will probably
cease, if we further remember, that the Lord Jesus Christ is the
great Agent in the system of the Gospel ; and that his character,
actions, and sufferings, are the principal subjects of its doctrines,
precepts, narratives, and institutions. " By him," saith St. Paul,
456 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
" were all things created, that are in heaven, and that are in
earth, visible and invisible ; whether they be thrones, or domin-
ions, or principalities, or powers : all things were created by him,
and for him." If the Creator of throoes and dominions, of prin-
cipalities and powers, thought it proper for himself to become
the supreme Agent in this system ; it must cease to excite admi-
ration, that those of his creatures, the energy of whose minds is
formed of unmingled virtue, should delight to sustain a subordi-
nate agency in its dispensations, and to study the mysteries, in-
volved in a work so wonderful, and sublime.
To him, who assents to the truth of Revelation, this passage
amply proves the dignity^ and excellency, of the Gospel. To
prove the truth of a Scriptural doctrine is, however, but one,
and that, often, the least necessary, and the least laborious, ob-
ject of preaching. To illustrate the nature of the doctrine, and
the manner in which it is true, and to impress its importance on
the minds of those who hear, are always objects of high moment ;
and often demand the chief attention of the preacher. Where
a doctrine is merely proved, it is-loosely regarded, and rarely re-
membered ; but, when it is clearly illustrated, and forcibly appli- |;
ed, a hope may justly be entertained, that the impressions, which
are made on the minds of an audience, will be permanent,
and useful. With this hope, I will now attempt to illustrate the
IMPORTANCE, DIGNITY, AND EXCELLENCE, OF THE GOSPEL, by Sev-
eral considerations, which if I mistake not, are suited to such a
design. In the mean time, those, who hear me, will remember,
as they cannot fail distinctly to perceive, that to do justice to the
subject is beyond the power of a hnman preacher ; and demands
at least the abilities, possessed by the beings, who have thought
it deserving of their own most laborious investigation. Even an-
gels could not do it justice. In itself, and in its consequences, it
will engage their study, and admiration, for ever ; and they will
perpetually find their former views of its extent, and value, in-
adequate, and, in many ways, imperfect. What then must be
the views of a man ? St. Paul, when this treasure was commit-
ted to him and his inspired companions, informs us, that it wa.°
SER. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 457
placed in earthen vessels ; coarse, frail, and jierishable. Succee-
ding ministers will certainly station themselves below the level of
the Apostles.
The Gospel, by which I intend, in this discourse, the Scriptures
at large, is a History of the Mediatorial kingdom of the Deity ;
of that kingdom, which involves all the concerns of the children
of Adam. From every other history it is infinitely different in the
nobleness of its subject. Kings and heroes, nations and empires,
the highest subjects of other histories, have here little significance.
Jehovah is the Potentate, the Messiah the Hero, his children the
nation, his actions the events, and his kingdom the empire, which
engross the labours of the sacred historians.
The Design of this kingdom, is the salvation of an endless
multitude of immortal beings. In this design are equally inclu-
ded their deliverance from sin and misery, and their exaltation
to virtue and happiness, which will know no end.
Tlie Theatre^ in which this design, and all the events, connect-
ed with its accomplishment, are completed, is proportionally ma-
jestic ; and is formed of heaven, earth, and hell ; the stage of
probation, and the seats of retribution, for the righteous and the
wicked.
Proportionally dignified also, are the Actors in this magnificent
plot. Kings and nations are, here, forgotten. Moral dignity is
alone regarded, where the design is salvation ; and the actors,
employed in accomplishing it, are prophets and apostles, the
the general Assembly of the first born, principalities, and pow-
ers, in heavenly places, and the mfinitely glorious persons of the
Godhead.
The Duration of this kingdom is eternal.
The Laws, by which it is governed, are like the Author of
them, holy, just, and good. They are so simple, as to be compri-
sed in two commands ; yet so extensive, as to reach all the possi-
ble actions of intelligent creatures ; so short, and so plain, as to
be sufficiently understood, easily remembered, and obviously ap-
plied by every moral agent ; so honourable to the law-giver, as
if nothing beside his honour had been consulted in their forma-
458 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
tion ; so beneficent to his subjects, as if devised only for their
happiness.
The Ultimate End of this kingdom is the manifestation of the
glory, or excellency of God, For the accomplishment of this
end " He, who was in the form of God, and thought it no rob-
bery to be equal with God, made himself of no reputation ; took
upon him the form of a servant ; and was made in the likeness
of men. And being found in fashion as a man, he became obe-
dient unto death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore God
hath highly exalted him, and given him a name, which is above
every name, that is named in this world, and that which is to
come : that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of
things in heaven, and things in the earth, and things under the
earth ; and every tongue confess, that he is Lord to the glory of
God, the Father."
The benevolence of God is the glory of his character. " God,"
saith the apostle John, "is love." This peculiarly divine attri-
bute was illustriously displayed to the angels in heaven, in the
communication of their exalted powers, in quickening their minds
with unmingled virtue, and in replenishing them with pure and
immortal enjoyment. But these just beings "need no repen-
tance." They have ever been obedient, and, therefore, have
ever been happy. They could not be forgiven ; for they had
never sinned. They could not be redeemed ; for they had never
been cast off.
But in fallen man the benevolence of God found a new object;
an object, on which its finished beauty might be exhibited in a
manner, unknown even to angels. " God commendeth his love
to us," to angels, and to all beings, who are witnesses of it, " in
that, while we were yet sinners, he gave his Son to die for us."
This is the consideration, on which the apostles dwell with such
transport, when they descant upon " the height and the depth,
the length and the breadth, of the love of Christ, which passeth
knowledge." This was the theme, which warmed the tongue of
the angel, when he said to the shepherds of Bethlehem, " Behold,
! bring you glad tidings of great joy, which shall be unto all peo-
SER. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 459
pie !" This was the enrapturing subject, which tuned the voices
of his heavenly companions when they sung, " Glory to God in
the highest, and on earth peace ; good-will towards men !"
Mankind were the lowest order of rational beings ; were born
of the dust; and were allied to worms. Still they had revolted
from God ; and with the impudence, as well as the hostility, of
rebellion, had said unto him, " Depart from us, for we desire not
the knowledge of thy ways. Who is the Almighty, that we
should serve him ; and what profit shall we have, if we pray un-
to him ?" Although His eternal power and Godhead were from
the beginning, clearhj seen throughout the world, being every
where understood by any mind willing to understand them ; they
denied his perfections ; impeached his government; questioned
his existence; and "said in their hearts. There is no God."
Creatures, and those the vilest, and most insignificant, thetj wor-
shipped, rather than the Creator. From the east to the west,
from the north to the south, temples innumerable, raised for the
worship of stocks, and men, and devils, insulted the Skies : and
altars, " from the rising of the sun, to the going down of the
same," smoked, not with incense and oblations only ; not with
victims, selected from the fold and the stall ; but with human
blood. Nations immolated the best, and brightest youths of their
age and country. Parents " caused their own children to pass
through the fire unto Moloch."
Equally gross, vile, and dreadful, was their conduct to each
ether. Rulers wielded a sceptre of iron ; and every where set
up the gaol and the gibbet, the stake and the cross, as the instru-
ments of their sway, and the symbols of their character. The
hero waded through the blood, and planted his laurels amid the
bones, of men. Fields were sown with salt ; and cities rose in
flames to heaven. The robber haunted the high-way ; the thief
prowled around the cottage ; and the assassin lurked behind the
curtain of night. The soul was infected with a plague ; and
without a physician, without a remedy, to check the malignant
poison, it decayed, died, and became a loathsome mass of cor-
ruption.
460 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX
Thus the world was one great scene of desolation. Nor were
its miseries allayed even by hope, that balm of Gilead to a
wounded spirit. Its situation was dreadful ; its prospects were
replete with horror. With heaven its communication was cut off.
God was unknown, and forgotten. The path of life was unoc-
cupied, and unsought. Year after year, and age after age, rolled
over its- melancholy regions ; and saw no messenger arrive from
distant, happier climes, with tidings of restoration, or deliver-
ance. It was a world in ruins ; a vast sepulchre, hung round
with darkness, and replenished with decay and death ; where no
sound of consolation pierced the slumbering ear, and no beam of
hope reillumined the eye, closed in eternal night.
On such a world it was impossible for God to look without ab-
horrence. That righteous law, by which he governs the universe,
had declared, " The soul, which sinneth, shall die." But every
child of Adajn had sinned : all, therefore, were irreversibly con-
demned to death. Nor could the " law pass," without the ful-
filment of every "jot, and tittle," included in it ; although the ful-
filment should require the destruction of " the heavens and the
earth." In this state of absolute despair, " the Father of all mer-
cies" was pleased to say, " Deliver the soul of man from going
down to the pit ; for I have found a ransom." Heaven was
startled at the declaration ; and the bosoms of all its inhabitants
trembled with astonishment and rapture. They had seen their
own apostate companions cast out of the regions of happiness,
and " reserved in chains, under darkness, to the judgment of the
great day." No more favourable destiny could be expected for
man.
The ransom found, was the life of the Son of God ; " the
brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person."
The gift, on the part of the Father, was the greatest of all gifts.
The self-denial, on the part of the Son, was the highest possible
self-denial. The sacrifice was infinite ; and could not be de-
manded, even by a suffering universe. It was conceived only by
boundless wisdom ; it could be executed only by boundless love.
SER. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 461
The destiny of our race, announced by the law of God, and
the reversion, proclaimed by the Gospel of his Son, will strongly
illustrate the nature of this transaction. The interests of the im-
mense and eternal kingdom of Jehovah demand, absolutely, the
final exclusion of all those, who rebel against his government,
from every future good. Sin is the die, which, cast once, is cast
for ever. The career, once entered upon, is endless : " None
that" commence it " turn again ; neither take they hold of the
paths of life." Misery is both its concomitant, and its conse-
quence. To sin, and suffer, through ages which cannot end, was,
therefore, the certain, final allotment of every child of Adam.
The sin was entire ; the suffering was complete. The sinner was
removed beyond the desire, and beyond the attainment, of any
virtuous, or amiable quality. The sufferer was placed beyond
the hope, and beyond the possibility, of any alleviation, or of any
end, of his wo. To such beings, how vast must be the accumu-
lation of wretchedness, in the progress of ages ! Proportional is
the value of the deliverance, and the extent of the wisdom, and
goodness, by which it is accomplished.
Proportionally bright and glorious, also, is the destiny, opened
i by the promises of the Gospel. " He, that spared not his own
' Son," saith the apostle, " but delivered him up for us all, hovi^
shall he not with him, also, freely give us all things ?" The great-
est gift He has already bestowed ; it cannot be strange, that he
should willingly give every thing else to those, on whom it was
bestowed. A mind here, pure and perfect, united to a body im-
mortal like itself, and " refashioned like the glorious body of
Christ," will begin, and advance in, an eternal progress of knowl-
edge, virtue, and enjoyment ; of gratitude, adoration, and praise ;
of moral glory, and divine beauty ; in the house of God ; amid
the innumerable company of angels ; and united to the general
assembly of the first-born. Beneficence will be its business ; hea-
ven will be its home. No enemy will disturb, no fear lessen, no
casualty interrupt, and no succession of ages terminate, the trans-
ports of the blessed. Before the throne of infinite mercy they
will sing, with the harps of angels, " Unto Him, that loved as,
, Vol, II. 59
462 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX
and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us
kings, and priests, unto God, even his Father ; to him be glory,
and dominion for ever. Amen."
Perfectly suited to the magnificence of this scheme are the
Doctrines and Precepts of the Gospel. The doctrines are, every
where, such as become the Author of them ; such as become god-
liness ; such as are plainly derived from the Wisdom, and fraught
with the Excellence, of Jehovah. His character is here drawn
by an unerring hand. The lines are all lines of the most perfect
symmetry ; the colours are the colours of heaven. United, they
form the only portrait, beneath the sun, in which is seen the like-
ness of a God. Heathen philosophers, and modern Infidels, have
only caricatured their Maker.
Equally noble and excellent are the Precepts. The heathen
philosopher* understood not the nature of virtue, or of vice ; nor
discerned the boundary, by which they are separated. Infidels
have voluntarily blended them ; and left them a mere mass of
mixture and confusion. The distinction between them was ori-
ginally begun, and has ever been continued, in the Gospel. With
a discrimination, unknown to all other moral systems, it separates
universally, good and evil thoughts, words, and actions ; and suf-
fers not a single transgression of the most exact, and most refin-
ed, bounds of virtuous conduct.
So comprehensive are the doctrines of the Gospel, that they in-
volve all moral truth, known by man : so extensive are the pre-
cepts, that they require every virtue, and forbid every sin. Noth-
ing has been added to either by the labours of philosophy, or the
progress of human experience.
Proportionally noble, also, are the sentiments, and even the
descriptions, contained in the Gospel. Compared with them, the
highest efforts of Greece and Rome, celebrated as they have
be^'en, are low, httle, and childish. This, was indeed, a thing of
course. The gods, whose characters and actions, were the basis
of ti..eir moral and religious systems, were themselves vicious,
grovcilinjr, despicable"beings ; greatly inferiour in respectability,
and worth, to such men, as Atticus, or Titus Vespasian. But
8£R. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 463
the mind of the moral teacher will never ascend higher, than
the character, which he forms of the object of his worship. In
some instances, I readily acknowledge, they uttered noble and
subhme thoughts concerning their deities ; particularly concern-
ing Jupiter, the chief of their dii majores* gentium. But, for
all these thoughts they were indebted, originally to hints, gleaned
from foreigners, and derived ultimately from Revelation. Aided
in this manner, their minds, which, in several instances, were of
a superiour mould, formed conceptions of this nature, which
were honourable to their talents. But every such effort was
merely the leap, not the steady flight, of imagination : much less
was it the elevated course of enlightened intelligence. Accor-
dingly the whole representation of the subject, made by any such
writer, is a monstrous mass of debasement, varied, in solitary in-
stances only, by more just and elevated conceptions. By the
Scriptural writers we are uniformly presented, not with the un-
worthy actions of gods plural ; imperfect ; mutable ; debased
with human immoralities; unable to discern, or prevent, the course
of things established by fate ; dissenting from each other with
mutual enmity, and mutual sufferings ; endangered by the rebel-
lion of creatures, and defended by their assistance ; but with the
perfect agency of Jehovah ; by whose wisdom all things were
contrived ; by whose word they were created ; by whose arm
they are upheld ; and to whose glory, with a solemn progress,
they unceasingly operate ; unfolded in images, and declarations,
so noble and majestic, as to wear on their very face the impres-
sion of divinity.
The Catastrophe, by which all the intricacies, and wonders, of
this immense plot are unravelled, is formed by the proceedings
of the final day. The Son of God will then descend from heav-
en in clouds ; surrounded by the glory of his father, and accora-
panied by all his holy Angels. He will then summon the dead
from the grave ; and reanimate the dust, of which their bodies
were formed. The innumerable nations of men will stand upon
* Superiour gods.
464 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
their feet in a moment ; and be gathered around the tribunal of
Infinite Justice. The wicked will be doomed to " everlasting fire,
prepared for the devil and his angels :*' and the righteous admit-
ted to "the kingdom, prepared for them from the foundation of
the world." The visible "heavens will then pass away with a
great noise ;" the earth will be consumed with fire ; the Son
" will deliver up the kingdom to God, even the Father ; and God
will be all in all.
Thus, my brethren, have I attempted to illustrate the nature of
this subject ; and have exhibited, in a very imperfect and summa-
ry manner, the parts, of which it is primarily constituted. Into
these things angels earnestly desire to look, and all, who, like
angels, relish the beauty, greatness, and glory, of the Godhead.
From these observations I infer,
I. That the Gospel is a Revelation from God.
To do justice to this inference, as connected with these pre-
mises, would require a series of volumes. Still, the following
considerations, briefly as they must be suggested, may, in some
degree, be useful to those who hear me. The Jews, it is well
known, were never distinguished for learning, or science. By
the Romans, after they became acquainted with them, they were
spoken of only with contempt. By modern Infidels they have
been still more despised ; and made the objects of more con-
temptuous wit, and more bitter obloquy. The Greeks, and Ro-
mans, on the contrary, were eminently learned, and scientific.
The former, also, have been generally considered as holding the
first rank of human genius ; and the latter, as excelling in wis-
dom every nation, which went before them. Whence, then, let
me ask, have the Jeivish writers left those of Greece and Rome
so far behind them, in their exhibitions of moral and religious
subjects ? On all other subjects the Greeks and Romans speak
like men : on these they lisp like children. Children every where
else, the Jewish writers here speak, not like men, but like angels.
The God, whom they describe, is indeed very God. His attri-
butes they have formed in a manner, perfectly suited to that Be-
ing, who is the first cause, and the last end of all things. JVoth-
SER. XXX.j OF THE GOSPEL. 465
ing can be added to them : nothing, without impiety, can be
taken from them. In all the writings of the human race there
can be found no rival to them, and no second. But they have
not merely drawn his character : they have exhibited him as the
universaU.,i>'fi;z? ; and, fearlessly entering upon a task, the most
difficult, which was ever assumed by man, have ascribed to him
an immense series of actions^ perfectly suited to the stupendous
character, which they have drawn, and fraught with a sublimity,
hyperbolical and amazing. These actions are, the Creation of
the heavens and the earth ; the preservation and government of
the universe ; the accomplishment of our Redemption ; the final
judgment of angels and men ; and the endless retribution of the
righteous, and the wicked. Compared with the Jehovah of the
Gospel, the gods of heathen philosophy are motes, compared
with the luminary, in whose beams alone they are visible.
The system of dispensalions^ here attributed to this mighty
Agent, is boundlessly vast, and immensely complicated. The
parts, of which it is composed, admit neither of number, nor of
measure. What cause expanded the minds of these men over
this unlimited field of thought? Whence were they able to
fathom depths, where the rest of mankind merely floated?
Whence is it, that they never sink beneath the grandeur of their
subject ? never wander from its truth ? and never halt amid its
complications ? Whence is it, that all move on with perfect
harmony ? and, while the writers of other nations dissent endless-
ly, not only from each other, but from themselves, these maintain
a perfect consistency from the beginning to the end ?
By the heathen philosophers, even the ablest and best of them,
Morality is only darkened, and debased. They discerned neither
the nature, nor the limits, of vice and virtue. Against the former,
indeed, they inveighed, and the latter they eulogized, with a vig-
orous eloquence ; yet they very often exposed virtue, and adorned
vice ; and alternately enjoined, and prohibited, both, with a con-
fusion of thought, and a depravity of heart, which make their
instructions means of corruption merely, and never of reforma-
tion. The Scriptural writers, on the contrary, enjoin virtue only,
466 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
prohibit only vice, and define both, in a manner so exact, and yet
so obvious, that a child need not mistake them. Their way of
holiness is a highway ; and wayfaring men, though fools, will
never necessarily err therein.
The philosophers of antiquity saw clearly, that mankind were
sinners, and needed pardon and justification. In this stupen-
dous subject Socrates advanced so far, as to doubt whether it
were possible for God to forgive sin. But this, painful as is the
conclusion, was a stretch of wisdom, never attained by any other
philosopher. Whence, then, did the apostles derive their sys-
tem of Redemption ? Who enabled them to find a redeemer ? a
scheme, of pardon, a scheme of justification, so satisfactory, that
no man, by whom it was understood, was ever yet afraid to ven-
ture his soul upon its issue ?
It is a remark of Johnson, that in all the poetry of Greece and
Rome, and I add, without hesitation, in the philosophy, and histo-
ry also, there is not a single truly amiable character. The cause
of this essential defect, as justly assigned by this great man, is,
their unacquaintance with the Gospel. Whence, then, let me
ask, did the Evangelists form their character, of the Redeemer ?
A character, not amiable only, but perfect ; a character, compar-
ed with which, the brightest on the pages of heathenism, is a
rush-light to the sun.
To these philosophers also, a future state of being was un-
known. Several of them, indeed, conjectured, and a few hoped
for, such an existence. By what means did the Scriptural wri-
ters become possessed, not of hopes and conjectures, but of the
knowledge, of this interesting subject ? Whence did they derive
their resurrection ; their heaven ; their glorious immortality ?
To comprehend the true import of all these observations, it is
necessary to remember, that there are, in the Scriptures, at least
one hundred different writers and speakers, employed on these
various subjects ; that they Hved through a succession of fifteen
hundred years, and in all the states of society, involved in that
period ; that they were of every class, from the prince to the
peasant ; and that they wrote in almost every form, which dis-
SER. XXX.] 0F THE GOSPEL. 467
course admits, and on occasions as various, as were the writers
themselves. Yet these characteristics belong to them all. They
have the same God ever in view ; the same Redeemer ; the same
salvation ; the same immortal life. Their views of holiness, and
of sin, are alike comprehensive, and exact. Their precepts all
require, and all forbid, the same things. The grandeur of their
views, and the sublimity of their conceptions, are, also, every
where wonderful. With an eagle's eye they all look directly at
the Sun ; and with an eagle's wing ascend perpetually towards
the glorious luminary.
To impress this subject with its proper force, let me exhibit it
m a single point of view.
The apostle John was born in an age, when the philosophy of
his country was a mere mass of quibling ; its religion a compound
of pride and bigotry ; and its worship a ceremonious parade.
His lineage, his circumstances, his education, and his employ-
ment, were those of a fisherman.
On what possible, natural principle can it then be accounted
for, that, like the sun breaking out of an evening cloud, this plain
man, in these circumstances, should, at an advanced age, burst
upon mankind with such a flood of effulgence and glory ?
Whence did it arise, that in purity of precept ; sublimity of
thought ; discernment of truth ; knowledge of virtue and duty ;
and an acquaintance with the moral character of man, and the
attributes of his Maker ; this peasant leaves Socrates, Plato, and
Cicero, out of sight, and out of remembrance ? Do you question
the truth of this representation ? The proof is at hand, and com-
plete. There is not a child of fifteen, in this house, nor, if pos-
sessed of the common education, in this land, who would not dis-
dain to worship their gods, or embrace their religion. But Ba-
con and Boyle, Butler and Berkeley, Newton and Locke, Addi-
son and Johnson, Jones and Jlorsley, have submissively embraced
the religion of St. John ; and worshipped the God, whose char-
acter he has unfolded. Their systems have long since gone to
the grave of oblivion. His has been animated with incieasing
vigour to the present hour ; and will live, and flourish, through
468 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
endless ages. Tlieir writings have not made one man virtuous.
His have peopled heaven with the children of light. The 17th
chapter of his Gospel, written, as it is, with the simplicity of a
child, yet in grandeur of conception, and splendour of moral ex-
cellence, triumphs, with inexpressible glory, over all the efforts of
human genius, and looks down from heaven on the proudest la-
bours of Infidelity.
Nor are the Images^ formed by the mind of this Apostle, dis-
proportioned to his moral sentiments. Read his description of
our Saviour, amid the seven golden candlesticks ; of the majesty
of God, and of the divine assembly of the firstborn in the highest
heavens; of "the angel," at whose command "the seven thun-
ders uttered their voices ;" of " the woman, clothed with the
sun ;" of" the King of kings," at the head of his armies ; of the
solemn transactions at the great day ; and of " the New Jerusa-
lem, coming down from God, prepared as a bride, adorned for
her husband ;" and tell me in what nation, in what writer, coun-
terparts for them can be found 1 Hear him in a few plain, una-
dorned expressions leave every effort of Grecian gt^nius out of
comparison. " And I saw a great white throne, and him, that
sat on it ; from whose face the heavens and the earth fled away ;
and there was found no place for them."
At the same time, the immensely complicated and mysterious
scheme of Redemption, and the vast system of Providential dis-
pensations, founded upon it, were distinctly comprehended by the
mind of this humble man. These amazing subjects he has han-
dled in innumerable instances, and forms : and light, beauty, and
glory, have every where sprung up at his touch.
Let us now make this case practical. Suppose the most in-
genious fisherman of this country were to attempt the same sub-
jects ; and to form a new scheme of Redemption, and a new sys-
tem of Providence. What, does common sense declare, must be
the character of his writings ? Yet in this country fishermen, as
well as all other men, are educated in a manner, far superior to
that, which existed in Judea at the time of the apostle John : and
here, also, their conceptions on these subjects are enlarged, and
^ER. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 469
ennobled, by his writings, and those of his fellow-apostles. I will
only ask further, what man of any talents, and with any educa-
tion, could now write as St. John has written ?
II. From these observations, also, I argue the folly of Inju-
delity.
Angels delight in the Gospel : Infidels loathe it. Angels ear-
nestly study it with the deepest attention : Infidels cast it away.
Angels learn from it the manifold wisdom of God in his dispen-
sation to his Church : Infidels treat it with contempt and deri-
sion ; and, proud of their own attainments, and lapped in self-
sufficiency, coolly say, " Doubtless we are the people ; and wisdom
shall die with us.''"' To which will common sense give the palm
of wisdom ?
Infidels are losers by their rejection of the gospel in the enjoy-
ments of taste ; in intellectual enjoyment ; in their character ; in
their hopes ; and in their end.
Educated Infidels covet the character of men of taste ; and
boast of possessing it in a superiour degree. The primary objects
of taste are novelty, grandeur, beauty, and benevolence. The
three former are extensively diffused over the natural world ; the
moral world is replenished with them all. The beauty and gran-
deur of the natural world ; the beauty of the landscape, and of
the sky ; the grandeur of the storm, the torrent, the thunder, and
the volcano ; the magnificence of mountains, and the ocean ; and
the sublimities of the heavens ; may undoubtedly be relished by
the mind of an Infidel, as really as by that of a Christian. But
how insignificant are even these splendid scenes of nature, if the
universe is only a lifeless mass ; a corpse devoid of an animating
principle ? How changed is the scene ; how enhanced the sub-
limity ; when our thoughts discern, that an Infinite Mind formed,
preserves, controls, and quickens, the whole ; that this Mind is
every where present ; lives ; sees ; acts ; directs ; and blesses the
beings, whom it has made ; that, " if we ascend into heaven,
God is there ; if we go down to hell ; lo, He is there ! if we take
the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the
sea ; even there his hand will lead us, and his right hand hold
Vol. II. 60
470 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
US." At the same time, how infinitely more subhme is such a
Mind, than all the works, which it has created ! " I am," saith
Jehovah, " and there is none else. All nations, before me, are
as nothing ; and they are accounted unto me less than nothing
and vanity."
In the moral world their loss is entire. Of the beauty, and
greatness, of that world they form no conceptions. For these
objects their taste is not begun. The pleasures, derived from
this source, are the privilege only of minds, which are invested
with moral beauty, and adorned with the loveliness of the
Gospel.
In the field oi Intellectual enjoyment they are not more happy.
Infidels are not unfrequentiy men of learning, and of science ;
but their learning is usually mischievous to them ; and their sci-
ence, of no value : for both serve only to inflate them with pride,
and estrange them from their Maker.
Moral science is the end of that, which is physical. In this
field the attainments of Infidels are oppositions of science, falseh/
so called ; a collection of dreams, more specious, and decent, but
equally unreal with those of Behnen ', and bearing the same re-
lation to knowledge, as a romance to history. What is the world
in the eye of an Infidel ? A product of fate, chance, or necessi-
ty ; without design ; without government ; without a God : its
inhabitants born, none knows why ; and destined to go, none
knows whither. Of duty, virtue, worship, acceptance with God,
and the rewards of obedience, they know, and choose to know,
nothing. To them the moral universe is a chaos. The Gospel,
looking on this mass of confusion, has said, " Let there be light :
and there is light."
But, although "this light has come into the world," Infidels have
" loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil,"
Instead of the pleasure, furnished by the glorious truths of the
moral system, they find only doubt and perplexity. Sweet as the
light is to those, who have eyes to see it ; and pleasant as it is to he-
hold the Sun of righteousness; Infidels turn away their sight from
this divine object ; and therefore only grope, and stumble, and fall.
SER. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 471
In their Character their loss is inestimable. It is the loss of
Evangelical virtue ; of the esteem of all the wise and good ; and
of the approbation of God.
Inestimable, also, is their loss of Hope. They reject the Re-
deemer ; and are, therefore, left to stand on the ground of their
ovi^n obedience. But they have never obeyed ; and are, there-
fore, condemned by the law, which they have only broken. Rea-
son decides, that God does not love, and cannot reward, bad
men. This decision Revelation repeats in thunder. But Infidels
are all sinners. The only objects before them are, of course,
annihilation, or endless woe.
"There is," saith Solomon, " a way, which seemeth good to a
man : but the end thereof is a bitter death." Were the Gospel
as untrue, as Infidels assert ; they would be no gainers. If it
should be true ; what will become of them ? What must be the
feelings of an Infidel on a dying bed, if he is then in possession
of sober thought ; and solemnly remembers his comtempt for
the Saviour, and his rejection of the offers of life ? With what
emotions must he enter Eternity?
III. This subject furnishes every minister of the Gospel in-
structions of supreme importance.
Some of these I shall address immediately to the Pastor elect.
You have heard, my friend, and brother, an imperfect repre-
sentation of that Gospel, to the ministration of which you are
this day solemnly called, of the purity of its precepts, the excel-
lence of its doctrines, and the glory of that divine kingdom, of
which it contains the history. Let me address to you these all-
important considerations with the freedom, and the affection of
a friend, and a minister.
Let me remind you, that in the Gospel, as in a mirror, clear
and undeceiving, is imaged in the strongest manner, and in liv-
ing colours, the dignity of your office ; not a dignity, fostering
ambition, nor flattering pride ; but a dignity, existing wholly in
the mind, shining in every meek and humble grace, and adorning
a life, consecrated to God, and useful to mankind. In all your
efforts for the salvation of men, you are here taught to regard
472 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
yourself as a fellow-labourer with angels ; as co-operating with
the Redeemer. He also preached the Gospel ; and although
" his name is above every name," adorned his office with far oth-
er splendours than pomp and pride. Let me urge on you his
perfect example, and the exalted subject of his preaching, as a
divine combination of motives, indispensably necessary to so im-
perfect a creature, as man, to do nothing, which will not become
the disciple of such a Master.
Among the attributes, which form a dignified character, none
is more essential than faithfulness. To this excellence every
inducement is presented by the revealed system. It points you
to an all-seeing God, intent with an awful and searching eye upon
every part of your conduct ; an infinitely faithful Redeemer, pres-
ent in every trial, and every distress, to accomplish the salvation,
which you preach; a cloud of witnesses, faithfully spending, and
cheerfully sacrificing, their lives for the same desirable purpose ;
the immortal life of your own soul, and the souls of your congre-
gation, placed in colours of life before your eyes, and appealing
with immense solemnity and endearment to your heart. Your
great duty, which is " the manifestation of the truth," will call
you continually to encounter many temptations, from the love of
popularity, the fear of offending, and the desire of seeing peace
in your days. In the same system are the means, and the mo-
tives, by which you may avoid them, set before you in the stron-
gest light. It may be profitable, on this solemn occasion, to re-
mind you, that you are there considered as a stranger here below;
destitute of an abiding city ; and wandering through the wilder-
ness of human life to that invisible world, where every faithful
minister will find his eternal residence. Between that world, and
the present, it is the only channel of communication. It opens
the gates of those regions, which spirits unembodied and immor-
tal inhabit. It teaches you, that in that world you will need dig-
nity, recommendation, and enjoyment, infinitely more than in
this; and that the qualifications, which will confer these blessings
on you there, are very different from those, which will produce
them here. To the inhabitants of that world it will be a mattei
SEH. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 473
of perfect indifference, whether you have.here dwelt in a palace,
or in a shed ; have ruled an empire, or fed a flock. So different
are the views, and manners, of that world from the same things
in ihis, that to have been " rich in faith," to have been " an heir
of the promises, and to have performed faithfully the solemn of-
fice, which you have chosen, will be higher dignity, a stronger
recommendation, and a source of more extensive enjoyment,
than to have swayed the sceptre of a world. If you suitably
realize these considerations ; no others will move you ; "neither
will you account even your life dear to yourself; so that you may
finish your course with joy, and the ministry, which you receive
of the Lord Jesus, to testify tlie Gospel of the grace of God."
In 5he faithful manifestation of the truth you will undoubtedly
experiejice many distresses from insensibility, opposition, and evil
speaking. The great preacher informs you, that, " if the world
hate jou, it hateth him also ; and that it is enough for the servant,
if he be as his Lord. He hath not left you comfortless. He
hath prayed the Father ; and He hath given you another Com-
forter, even the Spirit of Truth ; that he may abide with you for
ever. Seek earnestly to be purified ; labour earnestly to purify
yourself; that you may become a temple fitted for the inhabita-
tion of this divine guest. From him will you derive the peace,
which Christ left to his disciples ; the joy, which he alone can
give, and which the universe is unable to take away. Grudge not,
therefore, the vvorldhng his wealth, the statesman his power, the
philosopher his science, the man of taste his villa, or the sensualist
his dainties. To you the Gospel unfolds treasures, which are real,
and unlimited ; influence, which will extend through immortal
ages; science, sublime, immense, and rapturous; a mansion in
the house of God ; and an eternal banquet, gathered from that
Eden, which his own right hand hath planted. Here enjoyment
will be your interest, your honour, and your duty. Here intem-
perance and satiety cannot exist. Here indulgence is bounded
only by the capacity.
In the Gospel, to the ministration of which you are this day
to be consecrated, is embodied that exhalted science, which you
474 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX.
are especially concerned to attain. Immensely different from the
cold speculative systems of philosophy, which, although they
sometimes amuse the head, have no connection with the heart ;
the doctrines, involved in tliis science, arc all practical, divine-
ly efficacious on the character, and means, at the same time, of
expanding, ennobling, and purifying, the soul. At every step,
as you advance in this know^ledge, it will make you not only
more learned, but more virtuous, and more useful. Every step,
also, will be a step of delight. Here, and here only, truth out-
runs all the efibrts of fiction, in beauty, sublimity, and glory.
Whatever is great to the view of the intellect, whatever is sub-
lime to the eye of imagination, whatever is ravishing to the feel-
ings of the heart, is found here, in degrees, which cannot be lim-
ited. In the pursuit of this truth the mind is not merely .Relight-
ed, but enraptured ; is not merely elevated, but ennobled ; does
not merely look on, but, while it looks, " is changed into the same
image, from glory to glory, by the Spirit of the Lord." These
are, " the things" into which " angels desire to look." Shall not
men, infinitely interested in them, shall not ministers, whose
first duty it is to communicate them to others, follow their exam-
ple ? Those, who would resemble angels, must love the employ-
ments of angels. Unite, then, with these exalted beings in stud-
ying the divine system of truth, contained in the Gospel. Here
you will find all, which you need, under God, to make you a
blessing in this world, and to assure you in the world to come of
an inheritance in the kingdom of glory.
The same system of truth cannot but inspire you with the strong-
est benevolence to the people, committed to your charge. We
hope, we trust, you preach a God, who has pardoned you ; a
Saviour, who has died for you ; doctrines, which you firmly be-
lieve ; and precepts, which you faithfully intend to obey ; endless
misery, from which you hope to escape, and endless happiness,
in which you hope to share. Make, then, their interest your own ;
feel for them, as for yourself. Think what it is to be saved ; what
it is to perish. Recollect daily, that they may be your compan-
ions in heaven ; and that through eternity you may enjoy the
SER. XXX.] OF THE GOSPEL. 475
transport of remembering, that you have been the instrument of
their salvauon. Through eternity they may remember, that un-
der your ministry they were born of God ; made heirs of endless
life and fitied for the glory of heaven. Think what a consumma-
tion of your ministry it will be to lead them up to the throne of
judgment, at the final day ; and to say to him, who died on the
cross, " Behold, here am I, and the children, whom thou hast
given me." Think what it will be through endless ages to have
their blessings heaped upon your head.
With these solemn considerations always in full view, you will
labour, earnestly, to " come forth" to this people " in the fulness
of the blessing of the Gospel of Peace." Your sermons, before
they are brought to the house of God, you will water with your
tears, and embalm witii your prayers. You will " plant the seed"
of life " with all humility of mind ; and with many tears," you
will beseech the Author of all blessings to " give the increase."
You will remember, you will feel that you are appointed by the
great Shepherd to " watch this flock in the fear of God, as one
who must give an account." But what must be the account, giv-
en by a minister, at the bar of God, of a wasted life ; of squander-
ed talents ; of sloth, and cowardice, in his master's service ; of
a perverted Gospel ; of an abused ministry ; of faithless sermons ;
and of a neglected flock, left by himself to error, sin, and ruin,
precluded from eternal life, lulled into the sleep of death, and led
to perdition !
With these awful considerations in view, who, that deserves
the name of a minister, who that deserves the name of a man,
can fail of delivering the message of God boldly, fervently, faith-
fully, with the deepest tenderness, with the strongest yearnings of
affection. Must not his heart beat ; must not his voice tremble ;
when he rehearses to dying creatures, hastening to the judgment,
the terrors of the Hnal day, and the burnings of devouring fire ?
Must not his bosom heave ; must not his eye kindle ; must not
his tongue glow ; when he repeats the wonders of redemption,
the sufferings of the cross, the excellency and loveliness of the
Redeemer, the mercy of a forgiving and sanctifying God, and
47G THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE [SER. XXX
the glories of immortal life ; when he puts his hand on the door
of heaven ; and, opening it for the entrance of his flock, disclo-
ses to them the throne of Goo and the Lamb, the innumerable
company of angels, the general assembly of the first born sur-
rounding the tree of Life, and singing with transport the eternal
hymn ; " Blessing, and honour, and glory, ana power, be unto
Him, that sitteth on the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and
ever. Amen !"
IV. Let me from this view of the Gospel, urge every member
of my audipnce to secure its blessings.
To this divine, this indispensable employment, every motive
calls you, which can reach the heart of virtue or wisdom. The
terms, on which these blessings are otfered, are of all terms the
most reasonable. You are summoned to no sacrifice, but of sin,
and shame, and wretchedness. No service is demanded of you,
but services of gain, and glory. "My son, give me thine heart,"
is the requisition, which involves them all. Remember how vast,
how multiplied, how noble, these blessings are ! Remember,
that the happiness of heaven is not only unmingled, and consum-
mate; not only uninterrupted, and immortal ; but ever progress-
ive. Here all the attributes of body and mind ; the peace with-
in, and the glory without ; the knowledge, and the virtue ; the
union of minds, and the beneficence of the hand ; gratitude to
God, and his complacency in his children ; together with the pe-
culiarly divine system of providence in that delighttui world ; will
advance with a constant step towards the ever-retreating goal of
absolute perfection. The sanctified infant will here hasten on-
ward to the station, occupied by Abraham, Moses, and Paul.
These superiour Intelligences will regularly move forward to that
of angels ; and angels will lift their wings to a summit, to which,
hitherto, no angel ever wandered, even in the most vigorous ex-
cursions of thought. Thus will this divine assembly, make a
perpetual progress in excellence, and enjoyment, towards bounds,
which ever retire before them, and ever will retire, when they
shall have left the heights, on which Seraphs now stand, beyond
the utmost stretch of recollection.
SER. XXX.3 OF THE GOSPEL. 477
To this scene of glory, all things continually urge you. The
seasons roll on their solemn course ; the earth yields its increase;
to furnish blessings to support you. Mercies charm you to their
author. Afflictions warn you of approaching ruin ; and drive
you to the ark of safety. Magistrates uphold order, and peace,
that you may consecrate your labours to the divine attainment.
Ministers proclaim to you the " glad tidings of great joy ;" and
point out to you the path to heaven. The sabbath faithfully re-
turns its mild and sweet season of grace, that earthly objects
may not engross your thoughts, and prevent your attention to
immortality. The sanctuary unfolds its doors ; and invites you
to enter in, and be saved. The Gospel still shines to direct your
feet, and to quicken your pursuit of the inestimable prize.
Saints wait, with fervent hope of renewing their joy over your re-
pentance. Angels spread their wings to conduct you home. The
Father holds out the golden sceptre of forgiveness, that you may
touch, and live. The Son died on the cross, ascended to heaven,
and intercedes before the throne of mercy, that you may be ac-
cepted. The Spirit of grace and truth descends with his benev-
olent influence, to allure and persuade you.
While all things, and God, at the head of all things, are thus
kindly, and solemnly employed, to encourage you in the pursuit
of this inestimable good, will you forget, that you have souls,
which must be saved, or lost ? Will you forget, that the only
time of salvation is the present ? that beyond the grave there is
no Gospel to be preached ? that, there, no offers of life are to be
made ? that no Redeemer will there expiate your sins ; and no
forgiving God receive your souls? Of what immense moment,
then, is the present Hfe ! How invaluable every Sabbath ; every
mean of salvation ! Think how soon your last sabbath will set
in darkness ; and the last sound of mercy die upon your ears \
How painful, how melancholy, an object, to a compassionate eyq,
is a blind, unfeeling, unrepenting im.nortal !
But, O ye children of Zion, in all the perplexities and distress-
es of life, let the Gospel be " an anchor to your souls, sure and
steadfast." To the attainment of the happiness, which it unveils,
Vol. H, 61
478 THE DIGNITY AND EXCELLENCE OF THE GOSPEL. [SER. XXX.
consecrate every purpose, and bend every faculty. In the day of
sloth, let it quicken you to energy. In the hour of despondency,
let it reanimate your hope. In the season of wo, let it pour
" the balm of Gilead" into your hearts. View every blessing as
a token of love from the God, to whom you are going; as a
foretaste of immortal good. Stretch your imaginations to the
utmost; raise your wishes higher and higher, while you live*, not
a thought shall miss its object : not a wish shall be disappointed.
Eternity is now heaping up its treasures for your possession. The
voice of Mercy, with a sweet and transporting sound, bids you
" arise, and come away." Your fears, your sorrows, your sins,
will all leave you at the grave. See the gates of life already un-
folding to admit you. The first-born open their arms to welcome
you to their divine assembly. The Saviour, who has gone before
to prepare a place for your reception, informs you, that "all
things are ready." With triumph, then, with ecstasy, hasten to
enjoy the reward of his infinite labours in an universe of good,
" and in the glory, which he had with the FatTier before ever the
world was."
SERMON XXXI.
THE PREACHING OF PAUL BEFORE FELIX.
A SERMON PREACHED AT THE ORDINATION OF THE REV. SAMUEL
MERWIN, AS PASTOR OP THE UNITED SOCIETY IN NEW-HAVEN,
1805.
Acts J^xiv. 25.
Atid as he reasoned of righteousness^ temperance^ and judg-
ment to come^ Felix trembled ; and answered, Go thy way for
this time ; when I have a convenient season, I will call for thee.
In the preceding Chapter we are informed, that certain of the
Jews banded together, and bound themselves under a curse, to
kill Paul. In consequence of this conspiracy, his sister's son,
having heard of their design, disclosed it to Lysias, the Chief Cap-
tain or principal Roman Officer, who resided at Jerusalem. To
prevent the execution of it, Lysias sent Paul to Cesarea, to the
custody of Felix, the Roman Governor of Judea. In the Context
we are further informed, that Ananias, the Chief Priest, and other
Jews of distinction, appeared at Cesarea, to accuse Paul before
the Governor. As they were unable, however, to support their
accusation, Paul, contrary to their hopes, escaped. Still, Felix,
was willing to gratify them, so far as he could consistently with
the appearance of propriety ; and, therefore, kept him confined
at Cesarea. During this confinement, it seems, he frequently
sent for him, and communed with him. On one of these occa-
sions at least he gave him leave to discourse concerning the
Faith in Christ.
480 THE PREACHING OF PAUL |;SER. XXXI.
At this time Diusilla, here called his wife, was present. This
woman was the daughter of Herod Agrippa ; was contracted to
Epiphanes ; was married to Azizus ; and now lived in adultery
with Felix. Felix himself, therefore, was an adulterer. He was
also an iniquitous ruler ; as is evident from his conduct towards
Paul. Paul was accused, but was cleared ; and ought to have
been instantly set at liberty. Two reasons prevented his release ;
the disposition of Felix to gratify the Jews, and his hope of re-
ceiving a bribe from Paul. Bolli these reasons are incapable of
being felt by a just man ; yet Felix was governed by them both.
Such was a part of the audience, to which the preaching of St.
Paul, mentioned in the text, was addressed ; the part, to which it
was especially addressed. I have dwelt on the subjects of this
Introduction the more particularly, because they contribute in a
peculiar manner to the illustration of the text, and give it a force
and importance which it could not otherwise possess.
Considered in connection with this story, the text appears to
me to contain one of the most perfect single accounts of the
great Duty of preaching the Gospel, and the manner in which it
ought to be performed, to be found in the Scriptures. On this
Duty only do I intend to insist in the following discourse. All the
other duties of a Minister, together with those, which a Church
and Congregation are bound to render to him in the other con-
cerns of his Ministry, I shall leave to be inculcated by such, as
come after me in the solemn services of this Day.
In the account, given in the Text of St. Paul's preaching, there
are three things, which especially merit our attention :
1st. Tlie Subjects, and
2dly. The Manner, of his Preaching ; and
3dly. The Effect which it had on a jjurt of his audience.
1 St. The Subjects of St. PauVs pj^eaching, recited in the Text,
are these three ; Righteousness, Temperance, and Judgment to
come: or, more agreeably to the Greek, Righteousness, Self-
Government, and the Judgment ivhich shall be hereafter.
Righteousness, although used often to denote moral rectitude
generally, signifies, in its original and proper sense, Justice ; the
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX, 481
great Duty especially of Ilulers in the execution of their office ;
and the prime Duty of Men in their dealings with each other.
Nothing could have been more properly addressed to Felix. This
Man, originally a Slave, had been freed by the Emperor Nero ;
and by the influence of his brother Pallas, and a man named
Narcissus, both favourites of the Emperor, had been placed as
governor over the Province of Judoa. Tnere ho was guilty of
the most enormous and barbarous exactions ; hired Doras to kill
Jonathan, the High Priest ; practised a great variety of other cru-
elties ; and became in the end so odious to the .lews, that they
accused him publicly to the Emperor. So gross were his crimes,
that he would have been put to doath, had not the influence of
his brother Pallas been powerfully exerted to save his life. I
need not inform my audience how greatly such a man needed to
have the Duty of Rigliteousness explained to his understanding,
and enforced on his conscience.
Temperance^ (or more literally rendered, Self-Government,)
was with equal propriety addressed to Felix, and also to Drusilla.
They were both, at this time, living in open adultery. On the
Duty of Continence ; for this appears to be the real subject of the
Apostle's preaching, here ; on the great Duty of Continence, the
virtue directly opposed to this enormous sin, St. Paul addressed
these powerful and wicked hearers.
The approaching Judgment was the last subject, on which St.
Paul insisted. This was the natural and proper close of such a
discourse. To these great, dissolute, abandoned personages a
preacher of the Gospel still had access through the final Judg-
ment. Before that Judgment they, together with all others, must
appear ; must give their account ; must be judged in righteous-
ness " according to the deeds done in the body ;" and must be
rewarded according to the nature of their conduct. They " nei-
ther feared God, nor regard man -^ but the certainty and nature
of future Judgment were capable of being so explained, and
brought home to their hearts, as to rouse their slumbering con-
sciences, and to alarm their fears concerning their approaching
destiny.
482 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SER. XXXI.
2d)y. We have, here mentioned, not only the Subjects, but also
the Manner, of PuuVs preaching. As he reasoned of Righteous-
ness, Temperance, and Judgment to come, Felix trembled.
The meaning is, that the Preacher explained, and proved,
Righteousness, Temperance, and Judgment to come ; and thus
solemnly enforced them on the consciences of his hearers.
3dly. The effect of these Subjects, handled in this Manner, is
also recited. Felix trembled^ and answered, " Go thy way, for
this time ; when I have a more convenient season, I will call for
thee.''
If we consider the wickedness of Felix ; the power, which he
had over Paul, of life and death ; his peculiar hardness of heart ;
the splendour of his circumstances ; and the superstition in which
he had been educated ; we shall easily conclude, that the preach-
ing, which produced so great an efiect on such a man, must cer-
tainly be of the most excellent kind, and most happily formed to
operate successfully on the heart of Man.
From these considerations, plain and indisputable in them-
selves, and therefore needing no extended discussion for the pres-
ent purpose, I derive the following Remarks.
1st. The Preacher, icho woidd preach as Paul preached, will
directly disclose the sins, dangers, duty, and safety, of his
hearers.
Paul directly addressed to Felix and Drusilla the great duties
of Righteousness and Continence, the sins of injustice and pollu-
tion, and the danger, to which by these sins they were exposed
at the coming Judgment. These were their peculiar duties, their
peculiar sins, and their peculiar dangers. If a Preacher would
be like Paul in integrity, in wisdom, or in success, he will take
effectual care to preach in the same manner.
Were all preachers to be asked, one, by one, whether they
would wish to resemble Paul ; there can scarcely be a doubt,
that each would answer in the affirmative ; and be not a little of-
fended, to find the sincerity of the answer called into question.
But in the language of the great English Poet Cowper, to whom
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 483
1 shall take the liberty of appealing on the present occasion, with-
out reserve, I ask,
"Are all such teachers ? Would to Heaven all were !"
There are undoubtedly those in the sacred desk, who never dvvell
on the sins or the dangers, the duty or the safety, of their hearers;
but studiously avoid these solemn subjects, lest they should give
pain, or become unpopular. There are those, who spend the sa-
cred and heavenly season, allotted especially to the dispensation
of the word of life, in uttering mere addresses to passion, and
holding up pictures to the imagination ; brilliant, perhaps, and
beautiful ; eloquent and interesting ; fitted to amuse the fancy,
and agitate the feelings ; but not fitted to enlighten the con-
science, or mend the heart. There are those, who preach the
icy morality of Plato, Seneca, and Aurelius ; and plainly declare
by their practice, that they think Cicero and Socrates better
preachers than the Saviour and his Apostles. There are those,
who waste the Sabbath in useless metaphysical disquisitions ; in
making distinctions, which, like the lines of the Spider, are invi-
sible, except to an eye fixed in a peculiar position, and possessed
of peculiar acuteness: and which, when seen, are, like the same
lines, of no possible use to man. All these, and many others,
do not preach like Paul. He always seized the subjects, which
were most likely to be useful to his hearers ; the subjects, there-
fore, which they could understand, and the subjects, which they
could not fail to feel. Sinners, he knew, were guilty and hateful
in the sight of God, were condemned by his most holy Law to
everlasting punishment, and were exposed of course to final ruin.
These amazing truths he addressed to them directly. They were
plain truths, which sinners could not but discern ; and solemn
truths, which they could not but feel. They were truths, which
demanded and admitted no wiredrawn disquisition ; and rejected
with scorn all wand^ings, sports, and prettinesses of fancy. That
they would give pain to his hearers he perfectly knew beforehand ;
and for that very reason chose them in preference to all other
subjects. No sinner, he clearly perceived, was ever brought ir^
484 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SER. XXXI
repentance, but under the alarm and distress, occasioned by a
convincing sense of his sins. The distress, therefore, was indis-
pensable to the sinner's well-being. With this knowledge also,
and the solemn emotions which it produced, his heart would have
been frozen, if he could have repeated the seesaw morals of
heathen philosophy. But he could not have repeated them.
His Soul was too intensely warm with love to his hearers. " Know-
ing the terrors of the Lord," as revealed against sinners, he
" persuaded men to flee from the wrath to come, and to lay hold
on Eternal life."
With these awful things in view, he asked not the question :
Whether his hearers would be pleased, or displeased ; but en-
quired merely how he might promote their salvation. Never
was a preacher presented with stronger temptations to indulge
the fear of man. Felix was the supreme Ruler of the coun-
try ; held the power of life and death in his hands ; and now
sat in judgment on Paul himself He was also an enormous
sinner ; an oppressor ; an adulterer ; a murderer. By his side
sat Drusilla ; a woman false, lewd, and hardened ; an apos-
tate from the religion of her nation, dictated by God himself;
and openly defying conscience, shame, and retribution. Paul,
in the mean time was a prisoner, on trial for his life ; accused by
the great council of his country -, forsaken ; friendless ; and ve-
hemently hated by the body of his nation. Yet in this very sit-
uation of depression and danger, the Apostle, with an integrity
and benevolence transcending all praise, addressed, without dis-
guise or apology, to these splendid and formidable sinners the
very truths which they needed most to know ; reproved them
solemnly for the sins, of which they were especially guilty ; and
warned them of the infinite danger, to which they were peculiar-
ly exposed. In this manner he laboured as far as was possible,
to recall them to the duties, which they had forgotten ; and to
lead them to the safety, which they could in no other way obtain.
This example, sanctioned by Inspiration, and thus invested with
divine authority, proclaims to every Minister of the Gospel, " Go
thou, and do likewise."
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 48^
2dly. Every such Minister will fill his discourses with truth
and conviction.
Paul reasoned of these great subjects ; explaining, proving, and
discussing, them thoroughly ; so that they were understood, be-
lieved, and felt, by his audience. He did not, like a Heathen
Sophist, or like TertuUus in the context, or like many a man, who
has stood in the place of a Preacher, dress up an ingenious, en-
tertaining, courtly harangue, suited to the nice and fastidious pal-
ate of his guest ; used, as he may be presumed to have been, to
dainties of this nature. Paul's business was not to flatter, but
to convince and awaken ; not to please, but to reform and save.
He did not attempt to display his own superior talents, in an
eloquent declamation, adorned with fine images of fancy, or pa-
thetic effusions of passion. On the contrary, he entered at once
upon his proper business ; declared those solemn truths, which
respected the sin and danger, the recovery and salvation, of his.
hearers ; and enforced them by arguments, which could neither
be refuted, nor resisted.
The Truth of God, not the pictures of fancy, nor the effusions
of passion, will, if any thing will, " make mankind free from the
bondage of Sin and Death." The proof of this is complete.
The Heathen philosophers and poets, and the host of modern
infidels, have exhibited such images and effusions, through sev-
eral thousand years, in very many delightful forms, and, in many
instances, with as much genius, and strength, as can be hoped
for by man, and far more than can be displayed by most men :
yet they have never reformed, nor saved, a single child of Adam.
These images and effusions cannot, therefore, accomplish this
great design ; and will prove as fruitless in the hands of Chris-
tian Ministers, as in those of poets and philosophers.
All this might indeed be easily and perfectly foreseen. We
have, and can have, no interest in any thing, but truth. Fictions
of fancy may please, passion may affect us ; and in any degree :
but in the objects of both we are perfectly unconcerned, as to
every real interest. That which has been, is, and will be, con-
tains our all. Our past character, our present conduct, and our
Vol. H. 62
486 'iHE PJREAUHINU OF PAUL [SER. XXXL
future lot ; are every thing to us which is of any real moment.
This truth, and truth alone, declares. But truth, in order to be
seen to be truth, must, in almost all cases, be evinced to be truth
by solid and immoveable arguments. When thus evinced it be-
comes, in our view, an account of that, in which hes, and is thus
seen to lie, our real and whole well being. By truth, thus evin-
ced, we are, therefore, seriously and permanently affected, forced
to deep consideration, led to form plans of future action, and
compelled to labour at least for our saiety and welfare. These
things no efforts of imagination or passion, ever accomplished ;
nor can accomplish. Whatever else may be said of these efforts,
it cannot be said, that they are truth, or the means of evincing
truth. Had Paul used them with the highest possible ingenuity
and success, Felix would never have trembled at his represen-
tations.
I well know, that these brilliant exhibitions are highly enter-
taining to mankind ; and that the successful authors of them are
greatly admired and applauded. I know also, that they are,
therefore, greatly coveted by others, and the Exhibitors sedulous-
ly imitated by multitudes, at the present time. I see, or think 1
see, with deep regret, both in Great Britain and this country, a
constant leaning to what I should call, not preachings hut pulpit
•exhibitions. The scheme of such exhibitions appears to be, to
write like some of the ancient historians and rhetoricians, not
truth, but handsome compositions ; made up of brilliant images,
and striking and pleasing sentiments of passion, and adorned
with fine figurative language, bold exclamations, and pompous
phraseology. These, delivered with theatrical tones and gestures,
carefully studied and artfully practised, are what seems now to
be esteemed by multitudes the perfection of preaching. Accord-
ingly, snch as exhibit these things in this manner are greatly com-
mended, and followed with eagerness and admiration.
Were this subject to be regarded only as a matter of taste, it
might perhaps be worth the time and labour of a critic to shew,
that the scheme, which I reprobate, is equally a violation of cor-
rect taste, and of duty. But it can scarcely merit a sober discus-
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 487
sion from the desk. I shall only observe, that this was not the
conduct of Pericles, Demosthenes, nor even of Cicero, when in
earnest ; much less was it that of Chatham. These great men
in ail their fervid addresses to their countrymen laboured, like per-
sons of real business, to shew them their real faults, errors, dan-
gers, and duties ; to evince the truths, which they taught, by ir-
resistible arguments ; and to make their audiences feel and act,
because truth so powerfully demanded it. This is the way of
nature, and the true road to success. He, who would acquire
thd success which they acquired, must follow the path which they
trod.
In the desk the preacher is bound to remember, that he is the
Messenger of God to a guilty, ruined world ; that the Message,
which he brings, is delivered to him by his great Master, and con-
sists of the truths, which he has been pleased to declare ; and that
he is bound to disclose it to others, just as he has received it from
God. He is bound to remember, that he is professedly standing
in that awful place, to invite and compel Sinners to repent, and
Saints to increase in wisdom and grace ; that their salvation is
the great errand, on which he is sent ; and that, if they be not
saved, they must perish. With these affecting objects in view,
can he possibly spend his time in trifling ; in amusing his audience
with fine efforts of fancy and passion ; in culling tropes and
figures to gratify their taste ; or in assuming the character and
arts of a Stage-player ? In the language of the poet, already
quoted —
" What, will a man play tricks ? Will he indulg*
A silly, fond conceit of his fair form,
And just proportion, fashionable mien.
And pretty face, in presence of his God ?
Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes,
When I am hungry for the bread of life ?
He mocks his Maker ; prostitutes, and shameS;
His noble office ; and, instead of truth
Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock.
Therefore avaunt ! all attitude, and stare,
And start theatric, practised at the glass.
488 1'HE PREACHINGf OF PAUL [SER. XXXI.
I seek divine simplicity in him,
Who handles things divine ; and all beside,
Though learn'd with labour, and though much admir'd
By cuNous eyes, and judgments ill-inforra'd,
To me is odious."
TJie preacher, who fee]s as Paul felt, will come to the desk
filled with the desire, and the design, of accomplishing the salva-
tion of his flock. This, the great end of preaching, will fix his
eye ; fill his heart ; and inspire, control, and direct, all his eftbrts.
To effectuate this end, he will at once apply himself to his proper
and only business. The word of God lies open before him. From
this, the sole source of all the means and hopes of eternal life, he
will derive the great considerations with which he is to affect both
saints and sinners. There he will find, even without searching,
that all men by nature are guilty and ruined ; that, left to them-
selves, they cannot escape ; that the Law of God, in itself, per-
fectly reasonable and righteous, and, like its glorious Author, un-
changeable in its nature, has condemned them by an unalterable
sentence. There he will also find the " Glad Tidings of great
joy, that there is born unto them a Saviour, who is Christ the
Lord ;" that through Repentance of sin. Faith in his name, and
Holiness of heart and life, they may be interested in the blessings
which he died to purchase. There he will find displayed, with
the wisdom and skill of an Infinite hand, all the interests, duties,
and hopes, of man. He will find them also displayed in every
manner, calculated to enlighten the understanding, and to affect
the heart. He will find them portrayed in ten thousand forms
and varieties, fitted to every mind and awakening every feeling ;
immensely great and glorious in themselves ; solemn and awful
beyond example ; and able " like the fire and the hammer, to
break the rock in pieces." There he will find all that he needs,
to alarm, awaken, convince, and repiove the Sinner ; or to in-
struct, amend, and edify, the Christian. The truth, contained
in this " Word of God," and nothing else, he will by experience
learn, unless his eyes are dull of seeing, and his ears of hearing,
" is quick and powerful, sharper than any two-edged sword, pier-
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 489
ciiig even to the dividing asunder of the soul and the spirit, of
the joints and the marrow, and proving a discerner of the thoughts
and intents of the heart." These truths, therefore, wiU consti-
tuie the sum and substance of all that he declares to his people.
But it will be his constant aun to shew that they are truths ;
and that itiey are the truths, which Goo himself has spoken. To
this end, he will, like Paul, thoroughly discuss them. Whatever
he thinks obscure, or doubtful, he will explain, or confirm. What-
ever arguments or elucidations he finds necessary, he will derive
from the same Word, the Providence of God, and the nature and
history of Man ; subjects intended by God himself to illustrate,
and therefore always actually illustrating, each other. The end,
which he will first propose to himself, will ever be to shew men
their true situation, their real guilt, their actual danger, and their
only escape. To this end he will, so far as human infirmity will
permit, make all his eftbrts subservient. Nothing will be admit-
ted by him into his discourses except that which he thinks will
promote this end. He will strive to write and to speak as well as
is in his power ; but he will write and speak nothing to display
his powers. He will consider that as the best of all sermons
which leaves the strongest impression of its subject on the minds
of his Hearers, and leaves them least inclined and least at leisure
either to censure or admire the preacher. That, on the contra-
ry, which produces only or principally admiration and applause
to himself, he will consider as an idle piece of amusement ; in
which Christ and God and his hearers are forgotten, and his own
ambition and vanity only are consulted, flattered, and idolized.
It may here be asked, Whether I am inclined to discourage, or
reject, all efforts of Eloquence in the desk ? My answer is, that
that is genuine Eloquence, which I have described ; the manner
of addressing mankind, which leaves them most deeply impressed
with the truth and importance of the subject. That is the most
perfect eloquence of the desk, which leaves the sinner most sol-
emn, alarmed, awakened, and determined to exert himself to find
a way of escape -, or the saint most edified, refreshed, and
-strengthened to amendment. Here the discourse grows entirely
490 THE PREACHING OP PAUL [SER. XXXI.
out of the preacher's own conviction of the truth and importance
of what he declares ; and all the impression, which it makes, out
of the same conviction wrought in his hearers. Withdraw the
truth, the evidence, the certainty, the reahly, of the things repre-
sented from the representation ; and it would become a dead
letter, productive of no effect. Every emotion, every image,
which is found in it, is the natural and necessary offspring of the
preacher's own views of the affecting truths which he utters.
Such truths cannot fail to be felt by a religious mind, when sol-
emnly contemplating them ; nor to be so exhibited by such a
mind, as to make others feel them, when fairly proved to be
truths.
The way to the heart, by which I intend the great, controlling
faculty of Man ; the faculty, by which he moves, and acts, as a
rational being ; is through the Conscience, and not through the
imagination and the passions. Conscience is nothing, but the
Mind judging of moral subjects ; of truth and falsehood, right and
wrong. This judgment is necessarily formed only by means of
evidence ; and, when just and useful, is conformed to truth. To
enable the conscience to act, it must therefore be furnished with
evidence, and be able to discern what is true. This the Preach-
er can accomplish only by sound and solid arguments ; evincing,
beyond a doubt, that that which he urges is true, and that which
he reproves is false. To a sinner, stupid in his sins, and devoted
to sensual pursuits, of what importance can be the pictures of
fancy, however solemn, or however beautiful ? Can they show
him his danger, guilt, or recovery ? To rouse him from his slum-
bers, and withdraw him from iniquity, he must discern, that his
soul is really sinful, guilty, endangered, and, in his present condi-
tion, lost. To a sinner convinced of all these things, the same
pictures can be nothing, but mere toys and gewgaws to his eye,
mere trash to his palate. In his case, all that is important, all
that is good, lies only in knowing, and pursuing, the real way of
escape. This can be shewn by truth and evidence only. Truth
and evidence, therefore, are all, with which he has, or can have,
any concern. The same observations are, with the same force,
SER, XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 491
fipplicable to the Christian in every situation ; whether he is back-
slic!in<i;, or advancnig, in the Christian course. Nothing can be
interesting to him except truth : and truth is interesting, only as
it is shewn to be truth by its proper evidence.
All that can be said in favour of the images of fancy, and the
expressions of passion, as introduced into sermons, is this : the
preacher, who feels the solemn and affecting subjects of his dis-
course, will like the prophets and apostles, and like Christ him-
self, exhibit his feelings while he is discoursing, and disclose the
truths which he teaches, and the duties which he inculcates, with
that earnestness with which he feels them. When the mind feels
strongly, the imagination is naturally vivid ; and will form bolder
thoughts and stronger images, than when it is calm. The lan-
guage, also, will then be more ardent and impassioned ; and the
whole discourse will assume a higher and more impressive char-
acter. All this, every preacher will acknowledge and practice ;
while his sole business will still be to teach the truth of God.
The only reasons why his mind will thus feel and his discourses
thus glow, are the reality and importance of this truth, the strong
sense of these things in his own mind, and his earnest desire to
communicate his own views to his hearers. Whatever images
he displays, whatever applications, hemakes to the passions of
his audience, will be admitted into his discourse, merely because
they offer themselves, unsought, to a mind possessed of such
views. Instead of being the soul and substance, they will be
only the form and the dress, united to that truth and argument,
which are the real soul. In this manner they will have propriety
and use ; but in this manner only.
The difference between these two modes of preaching is this :
that which I recommend, and which Paul adopted, aims only at
accomplishing the end of all preaching by the direct and natural
means ; the means used by all men of real business, when ad-
dressing their fellow men, with a design to compass an important
end. The end of the preacher is to produce the salvation of
those who hear. The means are a display of those truths, which
^on has taught for this purpose, made in such a manner, as t©
492 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SER. XXXI.
persuade them that they are truths, and truths in which them-
selves are personally and infinitely interested. The mode, which
I reprove, aims at displaying, with peculiar advantaffe, the pow-
ers and accomplishments of the preacher. The difference be-
tween the ends is infinite, and between the modes of preaching
incalculable.
Metaphysical preaching, although it seems to coincide with
that which is here urged, and to unfoid divine truth to an audi-
ence, is substantially opposed to it. That which it teaches may
be true ; and the arguments used to support it may be sound ;
but the distinctions, even in this case, are so subtile, and the rea
soning so abstruse and difficult, that the hearer's attention to the
truth is lost in his attention to the preacher's ingenuity ; his mind
prevented from feeling what is intended by the absorption of his
thoughts in the difficulties of the argument ; and his heart chilled
by the cold manner, in which all such discussions are conducted.
The Metaphysician, whether aware of it or not, is employed in
the same business with the brilhant man; viz. in displaying his
own ingenuity, and not in disclosing and confirming the truth of
God. His discourses, if ingenious and just, are merely ingenious,
and usually empty, speculations ; in which few of his hearers will
follow him, and by which none of them will be profited ; eviden-
ces, indeed, of his own powers of discrimination, but not means
of salvation to mankind,
I have hitherto supposed the best of this manner of preaching;
a character which it sometimes, but almost never, has. Usually,
it is a mere effort of little minds to appear great ; a mass of dis-
tinctions without differences to support them ; a bundle of per-
plexities, which only puzzle the preacher, and distract or disgust
his hearers. It deserves attention from every preacher, that
men, really and greatly distinguished for metaphysical talents,
have rarely, if ever, preached metaphysical sermons.
Distinctions, which are, or which can be made, obvious, are
the only distinctions, whicii should ever employ discourses deliv-
ered to popular assemblies. All the preacher's illustrations should
be drawn, according to Cicero's direction to his Orator, de medio j
*^ER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. ' 493
from the common objects, with which men are customarily ac-
quainted. These are wholly better, clearer, and more forcible,
than any other. Accordingly we find such illustrations, and such
only, used by Christ, the Prophets, and the Apostles, in all their
discourses.
" Would I describe a Preacher," says the excellent Poet, whom
I have before quoted,
"Would I describe a Preacher, such as Paul,
Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own,
Paul should himself direct me. I would trace
His master strokes, and draw from his design.
I would express him simple, grave, sincere 5
In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain ;
And plain in manner: Decent, solemn, chaste,
And natural in gesture : Much impress'd
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge ;
And anxious mainly that the flock, he feeds,
May feel it too : Affectionate in look.
And tender in address, as well becomes
A Messenger of Grace to guilty man."
In a word, let the Minister forget himself, and think only on
his business, and on the means of accomplishing it. Let him ask
himself, what considerations would most convince him of his
duty, and persuade him to embrace eternal life ; let him direct
all his efforts to produce the same conviction and persuasion in
his hearers ; and there will, with the ordinary blessing of God,
be little danger that he will fail of preaching with wisdom and
success.
3dly. Such a Preacher will^ without reserve, address himself
boldly and directly to the consciences of his hearers.
Of this conduct the Text furnishes us with a glorious example.
Paul, humble as he was, endangered as he was, and great and
guilty as his hearers were, came directly home to their conscien-
ces. He did not go round about with his discourse, to insinuate
cautiously the truths which he wished to teach. He did not at-
tempt to secure their favour and his own safety, by soft address-
es, amusing speculations, or lying panegyrics.
Vol. H, fi3
494 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SER. XXXI.
On the contrary, he set their guilt, their danger, and their duty,
directly before their faces. He held up to them the mirror of the
Gospel, and shewed them their true resemblance ; awful in its
form, and terrible in its colourSo The image was their own; and
so striking ;i likeness that it could not be mistaken. Felix trem-
bled ; and confessed himself unable to endure the sight.
What Paul did on this occasion, all Ministers of the GospeL
so far as they are able, are bound to do. Every Minister, when
he comes into the desk, should remember, what office he sus-
tains^ loho sent him; to whom he is sent; and for what purpose.
He is a Preacher of truth and righteousness ; a Messenger from
the Lord Jesus Christ; sent to sinful, perishing men; and sent to
accomplish their salvation. How solemn the office ; how great
and glorious the Author of it ; how pitiable and distressed the
objects ; how divine the purpose ! With infinite authority the
awful Being, whose message he is sent to deliver, requires him to
deliver it faithfully ; and in no wise to " shun," or neglect, " to
declare all the counsel of God" to his hearers. With a cogency,
only inferior to that authority, the infinite danger of his flock
compels him to the same duty. The All-searching Eye, with
clear and piercing view unceasingly surveys his heart and his
conduct ; to mark the manner, in which he performs this duty.
Before him a multitude of immortal beings, who may be saved,
and who, if not saved, will be lost ; plead with silent but over-
whelming eloquence for a punctilious discharge of his Ministry.
God has declared, that if he, and they, are faithful, " he shall
save both himself and those that hear him." How can any man,
thus circumstanced, prove unfaithful ?
The Message is sent by the Creator of all men ; of kings and
beggars alike. It is sent alike to all men ; both great and small.
Can he fear and betray the former ? Can he forget and ruin the
latter ?
Away then with all trifling from this solemn scene, with all dis-
plays of talents, brilliancy, sagacity, eloquence ! Away with all
displays of the Preacher; with all remembrance of himself
with all prettinesses of thought and language! Away with all
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 495
the fear and flattery of Man ! with all the homage, customarily
rendered to gieatness, power, and splendour. Felix is no longer
a governor ; a judge ; a man who controls life and death. Paul
is no longer a prisoner, in question for his life, and suspended
over the grave. Paul is an Embassador of the Eternal God,
come to proclaim his awful pleasure to the creatures whom he
has made. His audience are all raised, or sunk, to one common
level. Who is that splendid being, arrayed " in purple and fine
linen," and rolled to the house of God in a chariot of state ? He
is a child of apostate Adam, and by nature " a child of wrath,
being a child of disobedience, even as others." Who is that
wretch, half covered with rags and dirt, come to the same sol-
emn place, supported by a beggar's staff? He is another child of
the same apostate, and sustaining precisely the same character.
Both, together with all around them, are sinners, exposed to the
wrath of God, and in the most imminent danger of final perdi-
tion. All, also, are immortal; are probationers for eternal hfe;
and are now " prisoners of hope." To this place are they come,
" to hear words, by which they may be saved."
In this single character, then they stand before the Preacher,
What shall he say to them ? He shall deliver the Message which
God has put into his hands. He shall " cry aloud, andfspare not ;
he shall lift up his voice as a trumpet, he shall shew the house of
Jacob their iniquities, and his people their transgression." He
shall say, " Repent, and turn yourselves from all your trangres-
sions : so iniquity shall not be your ruin. Break off your sins by
righteousness, and your iniquities by turning to the Lord. Make
you a new heart, and a new spirit : for why will ye die, O house
of Israel ! For I have no pleasure in the death of him that dieth,
saith the Lord God : wherefore turn yourselves and live ye. Be-
hold the Lord's hand is not shortened, that it cannot save ; nor
his ear heavy, that it cannot hear : But your iniquities have sepa-
rated between you and your God ; and your sins have hid his
face from you. Whereforp do you spend money for that which
is not bread ; and your labour for that which satisfieth not ? In-
cline your ear, and hear, and your souls shall live ; and I will
496 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SER. XXXi,
make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of
David. Seek ye the Lord, while he is to be found ; call ye upon
him, while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the
unrighteous man his thoughts ; and let him turn unto the Lord ;
for he will have mercy on him ; and to our God ; for he will
abundantly pardon him. F(jr thus saith the High and Lofty One,
who inhabiteth eternity, whose name is Holy, I dwell in the high
and holy place; with him also that is of a humble and contrite
spirit ; to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart
of the contrite. For I will not contend forever, neither will I be
always wroth : for the Spirit would fail before me, and the souls
which f have made."
To the children of God he shall at the same time address the
most solemn reproofs, and the most dehghtful consolations ; to
stay their backslidings, on the one hand, and, on the other, to
cheer their progress through this vale of temptation and sorrow.
He shall say, " My beloved Brethren, work out your salvation
with fear and trembling : For it is God that worketh in you both
to will, and to do, of his good pleasure. Be ye, therefore, blame-
less and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke. Forget
the things which are behind, and reach forth to those which are
before : Pressing forward towards the mark, for the prize of the
high calling of God in Jesus Christ our Lord." Remember, that
" without Holiness, no man shall see the Lord ; that circumcision
is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing ; but keeping the com-
mandments of God. Be ye therefore holy in all manner of con-
versation " Without love ye are and can be nothing in the di-
vine kingdom. " Let no man deceive you. Evil communica-
tions corrupt good manners. Flee filthy lusts." Be not satisfied,
that you have " a name to live. Humble yourselves in the sight
of the Lord, and he shall lift you up. Strengthen the things
that remain, and are ready to die. Hold fast that which ye have,
and let no man take your crown. Build yourselves up on your
most holy Faith ; praying in the Holy Ghost. Keep yourselves
in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus
Christ unto eternal life."
f SER. XXXI. BEFORE FELIX. 497
He shall also " speak comfortably to Jerusalem, and shall cry
unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is
pardoned. For thus saith the Lord that created thee, O Jacob,
and he that formed thee, O Israel, Fear not, for 1 have redeemed
thee; I have called thee by thy Name, thou art mine. When
thou passest ihrou^ih the waters, I will be with thee ; and through
the rivers, they shall not overflow thee : when thou walkest
through the fire, thou shalt not be burnt : neither shall the flame
kindle on thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of
Israel thy Saviour. The Gentiles shall see thy Righteousness,
and all kings thy glory : and thou shalt be called by a new
Name, which the mouth of the Lord shall name. Thou shalt
also be a crown of glory in the hand of the Lord; a royal dia-
dem in the hand of thy God. Thou shalt no more be called
Forsaken ; neither shall thy land be any more termed Desolate.
But thou shalt be an eternal excellency ; a joy of many genera-
tions. For although in my wrath, I smote thee for a small mo-
ment, yet with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee,
saith the Lord Almighty."
In a word, he will rouse the consciences of sinners by disclo-
sing to them their true character, their real danger, their amazing
guilt, and the anger of God denounced against their sins. He
will point out to them the only vvay of safety ; the righteousness
of Christ received by faith in his blood, and applied for their sal-
vation by the Spirit of Truth, in the sanctification of their souls.
He will call them to Repentance and Holiness, to the renuncia-
tion of their sins and the reformation of their lives, in the Lord
Jesus. Christ only will, in all his discourses, be held out as the
Hope of GJory to Mankind ; as the only Atonement for sin, and
the only Saviour of sinners.
To Saints he will point out the difficulties of the Christian
race ; the temptations and " sins which most easily" and frequent-
ly " beset them ;" and the means of strength, peace, and safety.
He will exhort them to remember, that the Faith of the Gospel
" worketh by love ;" and that their true character is known by its
fruits. He will shew them, that they have many duties to per-
498 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SEll. XXXI.
form, many enemies to encounter, many difficulties to overcome,
and many dangers to escape ; and will remind them, for their en-
couragement and consolation, that in God, if they faithfully seek
him, they will find hope, and courage, and strength, to surmount
them all.
In this manner, " he will teach, as one having authority, and
not as the scribes ; and his speech, and his preaching," will be
" not with enticing words of Man's wisdom ;" which instead of
awakening the conscience, amending the heart, and rectifying
the life, will merely allure those who have itching ears ; and pro-
duce the empty admiration, and useless applause, of the Preach-
er ; " but in demonstration of the spirit, and of power." And
the Faith of his hearers " will stand, not in the wisdom of Man,
but in the power of God."
As the amount of all his instructions and exhortations is found
in the woM of God only; he will of course make that inestimable
book the object of his daily, patient, and intense study. He will
not, on the one hand, foolishly rely upon the mere force of his
genius and literary attainments, to supply what the Scriptures on-
ly can give ; nor, on the other, presumptuously trust to unwar-
ranted expectations of assistance from on high. These are mere-
ly the result of ignorance, sloth, and presumption ; and when
God can be shewn to have promised his peculiar aid to the errors
of ignorance, and the sins of sloth and presumption ; then, and
not till then, may such assistance be rationally expected. Un-
til that time, every preacher of the Gospel will be bound " to
give himself wholly to reading and meditating the Scriptures," ac-
cording to the solemn injunction of Paul to Timothy ; that he may
be really profited, and that his " profiting may appear unto all."
At the sa me time, while he carefully discourages all negligence
and unscriptural hopes in his hearers ; he will feel himself bound
never to despair of the salvation of any. How can we conceive
of a case, apparently more desperate than that mentioned in the
text? The preacher was a prisoner, under trial for his life as a
capital malefactor; of a subjugate and hated nation; of a sect
of that nation, peculiarly hated and despised even by the nation
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 499
itself; and was accused by the great council of that nation, com-
prising all its principal men. Felix was the chief magistrate of the
country ; a Roman, and therefore supremely haughty, and im-
patient of censure ; a ruler unjust and cruel ; an oppressor ; a
murderer ; a man lewd, profligate, and abandoned. Yet this
preacher roused the conscience of this man, and made him to
tremble at the honest recital of his sins and dangers. Had not
Felix with a spirit of procrastination, but too common among
sinners, postponed his attention to these solemn things to a future,
"convenient season," which never arrived; there is reason to
believe, that he might have been brought to repentance. While
life remains, no preacher is warranted to think any man beyond
the reach of divine mercy. When he least expects it, the most
hardened sinner may be brought to tremble at a plain and pow-
erful exhibition of his sins, and to flee with terror from final per-
dition. "In the morning," therefore, let him " sow the seed, and
in the evening withhold not his hand ;" and leave it, commended
by his prayers, to the rain and the sunshine.
4thly. Hearers ought ever to expect such preaching from their
ministers, and to receive it willmgly and kindhj.
Such preaching ought certainly to be expected from every
faithful minister of the Gospel, because such was the preaching
of Christ, the Prophets, and the Apostles. These furnish the
only example to ministers ; and that, a perfect example. In this
example the preacher finds not only his instruction, but the law
by which he is to be governed. On this subject Gob himself has
given us his own comment, and precluded al! dispute and doubt.
" Son of Man," said he to the prophet Ezekiel, when going forth
to preach to the Israelites, " I have made thee a watchman unto
the house of Israel ; therefore thou shait hear the word at my
mouth, and warn them from me. When I say unto the wicked,
O wicked man, thou shalt surely die ; if thou dost not speak to
warn the wicked from his way, that wicked man shall die in his
iniquity ; but his blood will I require at thy hand. Nevertheless,
if thou warn the wicked of hisVay to turn from it ; if he do not
turn from his way. he shall die in his iniquity ; but thou hast de-
500 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SER. XXXL
livered thy soul." Can any preacher hear tliis tremendous de-
nunciation against unfaithful watchmen, and not tremble? Can
any people hear it, and question the rectitude of such preaching,
as I have enjoined ? Can they be willing, that the blood of im-
penitent and obstinate sinners should be required at the hand of
their minister in the great day ? Can they fail to wish, and to
pray, that he may " deliver his own soul ?" What congregation,
unless one were to be formed of maniacs, or to be summoned
from the regions of eternal sin and perdition, can be supposed
thus mad, thus profligate, thus forsaken of their God. What
congregation, but such an one, can demand, can wish, can ex-
pect, can consent, that their minister should thus become a sui-
cide, and murder his own soul ? If there be a being in this As-
sembly, who performing the usual functions of a man, is account-
ed a rational being, and yet claims this conduct at the hands of
a minister of the Gospel ; let him, before he enters the house of
God, read this dreadful commission to Ezekiel, and henceforth
be dumb on this subject forever.
If arguments can be needed, after what has been already said ;
let every hearer remember, that the preaching, here urged, is the
only preaching, which will do him good. The very opposition,
which he manifests to this preaching, the very reluctance, which
he feels, to have his guilt and dangers brought home to his heart ;
is the strongest proof, that this preaching is peculiarly necessary
for kirn. He is the Felix of the text ; a gross and guilty sinner ;
exposed to the wrath of God, and the danger of devouring fire.
Let him remember, that in displaying his guilt, and in denouncing
his danger, his minister is using the only possible means of saving
him from both. The physician heals a pestilential disease by the
administration of bitter remedies. Still they are remedies, and
will accomplish the cure. Were he to substitute for them all the
sweets of Hybla; the patient, though he might please his palate,
would lose his life. The surgeon heals an ulcer, or a fracture,
by exploring it with a hard hand, a painful probe, or a searching
caustic. All these are uncomfortable ; but, were he to neglect
them, the wound would mortify, and the limb perish.
SER. XXXL] BEFORE FELIX. 501
Every truth concerning a sinner, except this, that there is hope
that he may cease from sin, and those truths which depend on this
by an inseparable connection, is, and cannot fail to be, painful.
Still these very painful truths are the means, without which there
is no hope, that he will ever cease to be a sinner. To do him good,
they must be told to him, and plainly ; without disguise, conceal-
ment, oi^ softening. The preacher must not, indeed, end his
work here ; but must also spread before him all the hopes and
consolations, furnished to the penitent in the Gospel. But he
must do this work ; and the sinner must consent to have it done,
unless he intends to be lost forever.
5th!y. Hearers are by this text solemnly warned to obey the
truths, thus preached, without delay.
Hearers have two great duties, with regard to the preaching
of the Gospel, enjoined upon them by God : to receive such
preaching- ; and to obey it without delay. The Beroeans have
this honourable testimony borne concerning them by the Spirit
of God ; " that they received the word with all readiness of
mind ;" that is, they were willing to be told the truth ; and, to
satisfy themselves whether the truth was told them, " they search-
ed the Scriptures daily ; to see whether" it was the truth, or not.
This was a glorious and happy character, and merits the imita-
tion of all, to whom the Gospel is declared. There are those,
who are impatient of all honest disclosures of evangelical truth ;
and who regard the preacher, when delivering it, with hatred and
anger. But, in spite of the natural opposition of the human
heart to the truth of the Gospel, it is my firm belief, that no
preaching is in this country so popular, as that which is strictly
evangelical. The manifestation of the truth commends both it-
self, and him who preaches it, so effectually to every man's con-
science, that the natural opposition of the human heart is not un-
frequently silenced and overcome. Even the selfishness of the
sinner is unwittingly embarked, and not unfrequently, on the side
of the preacher. The sinner often, perhaps usually in a well in-
structed congregation, knows what is the truth ; and is complete-
ly satisfied, that truth alone can ever do him good, and prove the
Vol. II. 64
502 THE PREACHING OF PAUL [SER. XXXI-
means of salvation ; whereas error, he equally well knows, can
only flatter him here, to destroy him hereafter. Besides, there is
something so venerable, excellent, and even awful, in the honest
preaching of the Gospel, as to make a sinner afraid and self-con-
demned, whenever his heart rises in anger against the faithful
preacher. Even Felix was not angry with Paul ; but regarded
him, though a prisoner, with high veneration. Whatever is the
cause, this is certain ; that no preacher, who does not preach
evangelically, is, in most parts of this country, long held in high
estimation, or relied on as a religious man. But an evil, of another
kind, is still found here, and found abundantly. Sinners hear,
and respect, the preacher ; acknowledge the truth of his doc-
trines ; and confess the importance of obeying them. Nay they
usually, or at least in many instances, intend to obey them. But
here they stop.
Let me appeal to this Assembly for the truth of these observa-
tions. Have not most of you, who now hear me, at some period
of your lives thought seriously about your salvation 1 Have you
not believed yourselves to be sinners, standing in absolute need
of " repf utance toward God, and Faith toward our Lord Jesus
Christ?" Have you not designed to begin this great business,
and to " escape from the wrath to come?" What then hindered
you from proceeding to accomplish it ? You were not ready.
You were too deeply immersed in business, or too intensely de-
voted to pleasure.
In the mean time, you saw life lengthen before you through
days and years, enough to furnish you with a thousand future sea-
sons of repentance. To one of these many seasons, far more
suitable for the purpose in your view, than the time present, you
concluded to postpone the work ; resolving, when the happy pe-
riod should arrive, to begin it in earnest. Days and years have,
through the mercy of God to you, flowed on ; but have you found
this happy season ?
My Brethren, the world is filled with those, who say to Re-
pentance, lo Faith, to Holiness, to Christ, to God, " Go thy way
for this time ; and when I have a convenient season I will call
SER. XXXI.] BEFORE FELIX. 503
for thee.'" To procrastinate the business of salvation is the real
madness, the crying sin, of Man. " Procrastination is the thief,"
which steals away not only our " time," but our hopes, our souls,
our all. Ourselves and those around us, however contentious in
other things, are agreed wholly in this ; that we will delay that,
which alone ought never for a moment to be delayed. " Behold,
now," saith the Apostle, " is the accepted time ; Behold, now is
the day of salvation !" " Behold, now," we reply, " is the time
of business! Behold, now is the day of amusement !" But the
accepted time, the day of Salvation, is to-morrow ,• a season al-
ways one day before us, and never overtaken.
Can this conduct, my Brethren, be justified ? Can it consist
with wisdom, with duty, with common sense ? " Hear, ye deaf;
and look, ye blind ; that ye may see." Is not the attainment of
eternal life the only end, for which you live ? And shall the only
end of life be postponed to its close ? Judgment and eternity,
heaven and hell hang, on this little period. Shall it be wasted
in blowing bubbles? in picking straws? in gathering cockle
shells ? Will you " sit down to eat, and to drink, and rise up to
play," when Gob is commanding you from heaven, " to do what
your hand findeth to do with your might ;" and declaring, " that
there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the
grave, whither you go :" when Christ is calling on you " to strive
to enter in at the straight gate," and assuring you " that straight
is the gate and narrow is the way that leadeth unto life," and
that " wide is the gate and broad is the way which leadeth unto
destruction." Is it a time to bustle, and toy, and trifle, when
" hell is naked before you, and destruction hath no covering ;"
when the door of life is ready to be shut, and the voice of Mercy
to sound no more forever ?
But when is the work of Salvation to be begun ? Is it to be
begun to-morrow, the next year, or at some distant period ?
" Boast not yourselves of to-morrow, for you know not what a
day may bring forth." Allow, what you have no right to expect,
that these promised seasons will all arrive, and find you here.
Will you be at all better disposed to begin it then, than now ?
504 THE PREACHING OF PAUL BEFORE FELIX. [SER. XXXI.
Why are you now indisposed ? Because your hearts are opposed
to repentance, and absorbed in " the lust of the flesh, the lust of
the eyes, and the pride of life." At every future period, your op-
position to Repentance will be stronger, and your absorption in
the world and its lusts more entire. " Now, therefore, while it is
called to day, harden not your hearts, as in the provocation."
You, with all men, condemn the procrastination of Felix ; but,
while you condemn it, you act it over again. Where is he now ?
What would he give, what would he not give, to have the day re-
turn to him, in which Paul preached before him in so faithful a
manner ? His interest, under this preaching, was the same with
yours, under the faithful preaching of your own ministers. Pro-
crastination ruined him forever : continued, it will ruin you.
Whenever, therefore, your preacher comes out to you with inde-
pendent honesty, and sincere affection ; and sets your sins and
duties, your danger and safety, before you, in the strong light of
the Gospel ; whenever you, at the same time, acknowledging the
truth and importance of all his solemn declarations, begin to post-
pone your obedience and salvation to a future day ; let each of
you recite to himself. When " Paul reasoned of Righteousness,
Temperance, and Judgment to come, Felix trembled ; and an-
swered. Go thy way for this time, when I have a convenient sea-
son I will call for thee." Thus he acted, and perished. If I act
in the same manner, I shall perish also.
SERMON XXXIl.
THE PURITY OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER.
a sermon preached at the ordination of the rev. moses
stuart, as pastor of the first church and congrega-
tion in new-haven, march 5, 1806.
Matthew v. 13.
Ye are the salt of the earth; hut if the salt have lost his sa-
voitr, wherewith shall it be salted ? It is thenceforth good for
nothing; but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.
These words are a part of Christ's sermon on the mount ; and
immediately follow the Beatitudes. From the place, which they
hold in this wonderful discourse of our Saviour, it will naturally
be supposed, that they are of peculiar importance. They arc
addressed to his disciples ; a considerable part of whom were
afterwards apostles ; and most, if not all, of the others, were
ministers of the Gospel. It is, however, undoubtedly directed to
all Christians, and is true of them all ; but it is particularly appli-
cable to Ministers of the Gospel ; such as most or all of those
were, to whom it was immediately addressed ; and peculiarly to
the apostles ; who were ministers, in a higher sense than any
others.
To these Ministers it is declared by the Redeemer, that they
" are the salt of the earth." Salt, among the Hebrews, and, it
would seem, among several other eastern nations also, was the
emblem of purity, wisdom, and perpetuity. The Israelites were
directed to offer Salt with all their offerings, as a symbol of the
purity of mind, with which those offerings were to be made. In
Numbers xviii. God gave to Aaron, and to his sons, by an ordin-
506 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII.
ance forever, certain offerings, presented by ti^ie children of Is-
rael ; and styled this ordinance a covenant of Salt. " Let your
speech," says the Apostle to the Colossians, " be always with
grace seasoned with Salt;" that is, with loisdom; referring, per-
haps, to the pungency, with which observations, eminently wise
and useful, affect the minds of those who hear them. Salt was
also an emblem of several other things, which need not now be
mentioned.
As the emblem of purity^ Salt is chosen with singular proprie-
ty ; on account of the peculiar power, which it possesses, of pre-
serving all things, enclosed in it, or impregnated with it, in their
sweet and natural state, and securing them from corruption and
decay. This, however, it accomplishes only when possessed of
its own proper and perfect nature. This it is capable of losing ;
and when it is lost, the Salt becomes useless. Mr. Maundrell,
journeying in the valley of Salt, about fifteen or twenty miles from
Aleppo, broke off a piece of this substance, from a small preci-
pice, from which, the Salt was continually taken away by the in-
habitants of the neighbouring country. This piece he found,
though resembling perfect Salt, in its appearance, had yet, by ex-
posure to the rain, air, and sun, entirely lost its savour; and
speaks of it, as being the kind of Salt, intended by our Saviour,
in the text.
This savour, or, as it is called by Christ, Mark ix, 50, saltness,
is the property, which constitutes the only value of Salt ; for,
when this is lost, " it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be
cast out, and trodden under foot of men." It can no more be
employed for human use ; and is fit neither for the purposes of
seasoning, or preserving, our food ; nor indeed, for any of those
ends, for which it was especially designed.
In the same manner, the purity of ministers is the foundation
of all their usefulness ; all the means of seasoning themselves and
others ; all the means of rendering themselves and their ministry
acceptable, and useful, to mankind, and of preserving themselves
and their hearers from corruption and ruin.
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL €HARACTER. 507
The purity of ministers may be advantageously considered, as
internal^ and in this sense, invisible except to the eye of God ; or,
as external, and visible to their fellow men, by manifesting itself
in the life and conversation. It is my design to consider it, par-
ticularly, in the latter sense. As we can never know the internal
character, except by its manifestations ; so it is plain, that it can,
in no other manner, have any influence on the affairs of mankind.
It must exist in the soul, or it cannot be manifested ; it must be
manifested, or it will not be useful. The importance, therefore,
of this subject commends itself very forcibly, as well as immedi-
ately, to the mind ; and demands the very serious attention of
both ministers and their fellow men. Ministers cannot but see,
that, in this sense, they are bound to " have Salt in themselves ;"
according to the command of Christ : their fellow men cannot
but see, that they have a right to expect, and require, it at their
hands.
My own views, concerning the purity of the ministerial charac-
ter, in the sense specified, I shall endeavour to express, so far as
the present opportunity will conveniently permit, under the fol-
lowing heads,
I. Purity of Preaching ;
II. Purity of Administrations ; and,
III. Purity of Life.
I. Purity of Preaching includes the doctrines, which are preach-
ed j and the manner, in which they are preached.
1 St. Purity of doctrine denotes, that the Gospel be faithfully
and exactly preached.
If I were asked, what I intend by the Gospel in this observa-
tion, I should answer, that I intend ihe following doctrines, and
others revealed in that sacred book, which in my view are insep-
arably connected with these.
That there is One, Self-existent, Infinite, and Perfect God.
That all things were created, and are preserved, and govern-
ed, by him, according to his pleasure.
That the Law, by which he governs moral beings, is holy, just,
and good ; and requ'res them to "love him with all the heart,
and their neighbour as themselves."
508 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII
That " he, who doth these things, shall Hve in them ; and that
the soul which sinneth shall die."
That all mankind have sinned, " and are, by nature, children
of wrath, being children of disobedience."
That Jesus Christ, the Son of God, who is himself " over all,
God blessed for ever, became flesh ;" and " was set forth" by the
Father, as a propitiation, to expiate the iniquities of mankind, by
dyins on the cross, that they might live :
That " he, who believeth on him, shall be saved ; and that he,
who believeth not, shall be damned :"
That " we are justified freely, by the grace of God, through
Faith ; and that" that Faith is " not of ourselves, but the gift of
God :"
That the Faith of the Gospel is that, " which worketh by love :"
That, except we repent, we shall perish.
That " without holiness no man shall see the Lord :"
That " those, who believe in God," are bound to " be careful
to maintain good works :"
That " not by works of righteousness, which we have done,
but according to his mercy, he saves us, by the washing of re-
generation, and renewing of the Holy Ghost ;" the Third Person
in the glorious Trinity :
That the " Law is estabhshed" by the Gospel, and " not made
void," and is, and ever will be, the rule of righteousness to all
men :
That God " hath appointed a day, in the which he will judge
the world in righteousness" by Jesus Christ, and " reward every
man, according to his works."
That all true penitents will be blessed forever. That the final-
ly impenitent will be " punished with an everlasting destruction,
from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power:"
That the Word of God, by its instructions, precepts, and or-
dinances, particularly by the ministry of the Gospel, is, in the
hands of the Divine Spirit, made effectual to salvation.
These Doctrines, and others intimately connected with them,
are in my view pure Doctrines of the Gospel.
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 509
Generally, the Gospel in its own proper, obvious meaning :
the Gospel, allowed to speak its own sense, and not a sense
devised for it with labour and contrivance ; so as to make it con-
form to our pre-conceived opinions ; is what I intend by purity of
Doctrine. The things preached should ever be things really re-
vealed. " Secret things belong to God." Things which are re-
vealed, and only those, " belong to Man." By revealed things I
intend not only such as are expressed ; but also those which are
clearly and certainly implied. Yet, as human reasoning is so
commonly and so easily deceptive, especially when it is our own
reasoning ; I should always suspect such inferences, as are con-
nected with scriptural declarations by any considerable course of
arguments ; and admit them, as scriptural doctrines, only with
extreme caution. All that is really disclosed is to be admitted,
as a doctrine of the Scriptures ; and admitted in its own proper
sense; and that indifferently, whether it accord with our opino'is,
or contradict them. " Let God be true, but every man a liar,"
is a sentence, which should rule in the mind of a minister, when-
ever he sits down to read the Scriptures. When he asks for the
sense of a passage, he ought to remember, that the obvious
meanings if it have one, is ever to be prefered ; that is, the mean-
ing which is upon the whole obvious. It is a just remark <jf Dod-
dridge, that that sense of the scriptures, which naturally strikes
the minds of plain men, is, almost of course, the true one.
Ministers, more frequently than in any other way, trespass
against Purity of Doctrine hy preaching their own philosophical
opinions ; or opinions, derived from their own reasonings, and
not from the Scriptures. This is often done from the love of
novelty; often from the desire of preserving consistency in our
own system of doctrines; often from reverence for the opini >ns
of others ; and, probably almost always, with a persuasion, rfiat
what we preach is true, and must be scriptural. But, as man
could not make a system of Divinity at first ; so it is plain, that
he cannot mend the system, which God has made, A Minister,
therefore, will ever act prudently, in being satisfied not to be
"wise above that which is written." Almost all heretics have
Vol. II. 65
510 THE PURITV [SER. XXXIL
been ingenious and philosophical men ; and were themselves en-
snared, and ensnared their disciples, in the manner which I am
reprobating. If a Minister can, like the Apostles, prefix, or sub-
join, It is written^ to his opinions, and his Preaching ; he will be
safe himself, and will usually convince and satisfy his hearers.
Young men are commonly in peculiar danger from this source.
As we advance in years, we naturally lose a part of the boldness,
ardour, and high sense of intellectual independence, which are
apt to prevail in the youthful mind. We are, also, compelled to
see how regularly human systems of Theology, though often ad-
mired and believed for a time, lose their evidence, and their influ-
ence ; and are ultimately regarded as splendid play-things, fitted
only to amuse and deceive ; while we are, also, more and more
convinced, that "the foundation of God standeth sure ; and that
every word of God is pure, and endureth forever."
2dly. Purity of Marnier denotes the following things.
That the scheme of preachings as to the sentiments, style, and
ntterance, he simple and direct-, springing from a sense of the
importance of the Preacher's business, and an earnest desire to
accomplish it as perfectly as may be ; expressive of a high sense
of the great end, for which the Preacher enters the Desk ; viz.
to instruct, and move, his audience ; and in this way to persuade
them to repentance and reformation :
That it he clear- and intelligible; exhibiting doctrines thorough-
ly distinguished, and strongly supported, in plain, obvious lan-
guage ; and happily disclosed by a judicious chosen method, and
easy illustration :
That it he solemn; suited to the amazing solemnity of the
subject, and the end of preaching; to the occasion on which,
and the assembly before whom he appears; to the design of the
Sabbath, and the venerable character of the Sanctuary :
That it he fervent ; fitted to the benevolent, interesting, and
glorious design of rescuing mankind from the bondage of corrup-
tion. He, who is not interested on such an occasion, belies his
office; he, who is interested, and at the same time persuades oth-
ers by a cold and heartless manner of preaching, that he is not,
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 511
belies, though, it may be, insensibly to himself, his own feelings.
In preaching, if in any thing, a Minister is bound to be " not
slothful in business, but fervent in spirit, serving the Lord :"
That it he hold; not indeed WxXh. self confidence, and pride of
talents ; this is the boldness of childhood and folly, but with the
firmness, springing instinctively from a rivetted persuasion of the
goodness and importance of his employment. The most mod-
est man may be invincibly firm, from this source ; while none but
the eain, proud, and silly, will derive any material support from
the other. This attribute was gloriously exemplified by Christ,
the Prophets, and the Apostles. Nathan said unto David "Thou
art the man." " Woe unto you Scribes and Pharisees," said our
Saviour, " who devour widows' houses, and for a pretence make
long prayers ! Ye shall receive the greater damnation. O Gen-
eration of Vipers !" said the Baptist to the Pharisees and Saddu-
cees, "who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come?" and
to Herod, " It is not lawful for thee to have thy brother's wife."
" But ye denied the Holy One, and the Just," said St. Peter to
the Jews, " and desired a murderer to be granted unto you, and
killed the Prince of life." " O full of all subtlety," said St. Paul
to Elymas, " and all mischief, thou child of the devil, thou ene-
my of all righteousness ! wilt thou not cease to pervert the right
ways of the Lord?" Every faithful Minister will follow these glo-
rious examples, as occasion demands ; and never suffer the fear
of man to prevent him from " warning the wicked of his way,
that he turn from it, and save his soul ahve." This attribute is
mentioned near thirty times, as a characteristic of Christ, and
the first preachers of the Gospel ; and is by this fact strongly
commended to our adoption. Nor will it fail to be a most sup-
porting consideration on a dying bed, to remember, that, with
Paul, " we have not shunned to declare all the counsel of God."
Finally, that it he acceptable. Of the great Jewish Preacher it
is recorded, as a general and honourable character, by the Spirit
of God, " that he sought to find out acceptable words;" and,
lest we should imagine, that he sacrificed truth and righteousness
for the attainment of applause, it is immediately subjoined, " that
512 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII.
that, which was written, was upright, even words of truth." Up-
right words, then, and words of truth, may still be acceptable
words. While, therefore, we are directed " to the law, and to
the testimony," to find the doctrines, which we are to believe and
preach ; and are informed, that " if we speak not according to
this word, it is because there is no light in us ;" we are also re-
quired to preach these doctrines in " acceptable words." Nor
let any one suppose, that this is an easy task, or to be accom-
plished without serious labour and care. The inspired Preacher
himself, with ail his unrivalled wisdom, was obhged, it would
seem, to make this attainment an object of exertion : for we are
told, " he sought to find out acceptable words." If we would
find them, we must labour in the same manner. All the charac-
teristics of Preaching, which have been already mentioned, con-
tribute in their several ways to render the manner acceptable ;
but I intend something more by this term. I intend, that the
manner shall be such, as to discover a reigning sweetness of dis-
position : an affectionate sympathy with Christians, mingling it-
self with all the counsel, exhortation and reproof, addressed to
them : a tender concern for the salvation of sinners, exhibiting
itself as well in disclosing the threatenings and alarms intended
to awaken them to repentance, in the rebukes designed to chas-
ten their iniquities, and in the solemn warnings of their guilt and
danger ; as in disclosing the persuasive and glorious motives, held
out to them in the invitations and encouragements of the gospel:
a universal ipoderation and candour in discussing disputed doc-
trines : a foir statement of objections against the Preacher's own
opinions : a serious and benevolent mode of answering them :
and a careful avoidance, on the one hand, of such phraseology,
as is known to be regarded with particular prejudice by his hear-
er^ ; flnd, on the other, of all such exhibitions of doctrine or pre-
cept, as terminate merely in exciting fearful apprehensions con-
cerning the Preacher's own heresy. Every Preacher is bound by
the HUthority of God to preach the truth; but no authority obli-
ges him to exhibit it in such a manner, as to persuade his hearers,
that it is falsehood.
%ER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 513
To what has been here observed, it is proper to add, that every
man has, naturally, a ckaracteristical mwiiier of thinkings writing
and speaking, which is his own. This, undoubtedly, ought to be
conceded freely to every man : for none can drop it with advan-
tage, and successfully assume another. But with this native man-
ner of every man, who is qualified to preach at all, all the quali-
ties, insisted on in this discourse, are consistent ; and may there-
fore be attained by him, in a greater or less degree. The natural
manner of one man will, I acknowledge, lean more to some of
them than toothers, and that without any material disadvantage.
Substantially, they may all be acquired by every Preacher.
The opposites to Purity of Manner, or the modes in which
Preachers are most exposed to fail of it, are chiefly the fol-
lowing.
1st. Uttering our passions in the Desk: such, for example, as
our resentments against Individuals, classes or sects. In this con-
duct are often exhibited, instead of evangelical zeal, and attach-
ment to the Gospel, our own bigotry, hatred, anger, and con-
tempt, for others. Another example may be found in the pride,
heat, and petulance of a Polemic ; often displaying the censura-
ble spirit of controversy, the insolence of victory, and the impa-
tience of defeat ; instead of the sober love of truth, the impartial
submission to evidence, and the honest desire to do good, which
characterize the upright minister of the Gospel, " contending
earnestly," from the desire, not of victory, but of defending " the
faith, once delivered to the saints."
2dly. A manner, sometimes adopted, of alarming and distres-
sing an audience, not concerning their guilt and danger, but con-
cerning the heretical character of the Preacher, and his Doc
trines.
This effect is produced by the choice of new and strange phra-
seology ; the utterance of singular, and, to mankind in general,
perplexing opinions, in a great measure foreign to both the faith
and duty of the hearers, as well as of the Preacher ; and deliver-
ing paradoxes, instead of the sober sentiments of Revelation and
common sense. These are generally made up of inferences, de-
514 THE PURITY [SER. XXXIt.
rived, by long and perplexed reasonings, from passages of Scrip-
ture, or from acknowledged doctrines ; are always in danger of
being false ; are rarely evinced to be true ; and, if true, and evin-
ced to be true, are rarely of any serious importance or utility.
At the same time, by their novelty, and the boldness and confi-
dence with which they are declared, they rouse attention, and
excite alarm ; and, when they are rejected and reprobated, the
Preacher, unfortunately in my view, consoles himself with the re-
flection, that the opposition to him and his doctrines arises only
from the hatred of the truth, so generally discovered by man-
kind.
3dly. An ostentatious manner. In this, the Preacher labours
to discover his learning, his sagacity, or his brilliancy.
4thly. A manner^ which I shall call, covert. In this, the Preach-
er, either carefully, or carelessly, avoiding exactness of definuion,
clearness of method, and distinctness of discrimination, throws
his discourse together in a mass ; so that it is usually out of the
power of his hearers to know what he hirnself beheves, or what
he would wish them to believe. Texts he glosses over without
determining their precise meaning, or whether they have any such
meaning. His own opinions he slurs in such a manner, as to
leave them to be guessed out, rather than understood ; and keeps
his hearers in such a state of uncertainty concerning what he be-
lieves, that it sometimes remains in doubt, even after his death.
This conduct is, in some instances, the result of negligence ; in
others, of the fear of offending those who hear ; and, perhaps
more frequently still, of lax opinions in the Preacher, which he is
conscious cannot be safely disclosed.
5thly. A. manner characterised hy levity. Such, as preach in
this manner, exhibit the truths of the Gospel with much the same
air, with which they recite ordinary occurrences. Their language
is, to a great extent, so cool, sportive, and trifling, and their sen-
timents are so marked with indifference and lightness of mind, as
naturally to persuade their hearers, that they are assembled
rather to be amused, and pass away pleasantly those hours of
the Sabbath which would otherwise hang heavily, than to learn
SER. XXXII] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 515
their guilt and danger, and obtain tlieir salvation. Such Preach-
ers forget, that God has required a " bishop to be sober ;" that
they speak in his name ; that they address immortal beings, in
imminent danger of perishing forever ; that by their Preaching,
if faithfully performed, these beings might be saved ; that Christ
and his Apostles never trifled with their hearers ; and that them-
selves must soon give " an account" to God " of their steward-
ship."
Gtlily. A lazy manner. It is not to be expected, that all men
should be equally animated and fervid in their addresses to man-
kind. I am ready cheerfully to make all the allowances which
can be asked, for constitutional differences of character. But no
man needs to be lazy. Every man can be in earnest ; and can
persuade others that he is in earnest ; and when he has persua-
ded them of this fact, can produce in their minds a serious and
solemn sense of serious and solemn truths. This being admitted,
every man's native manner will be a good and useful one ; the
best always, which can be adopted by Idm. The lazy manner,
of w'hich I speak, is natural to no man ; at least to no man, who
ought ever to be found in the Desk. It may, perhaps, be the re-
sult of habit, insensibly creeping on the mind ; but it is far more
frequently the result of unpardonable inattention to the import-
ance, subjects, place, and occasion, of Preaching ; the offspring
of a very censurable carelessness, concerning the great end of
the evangelical ministry. The language, the sentiments, the ar-
guments, of such a Preacher indicate strongly thai he is solici-
tous rather to pass without censure, than to discharge his duty ^
and to keep his audience quiet, rather than to promote their sal-
vation.
All these modes of Preaching offend plainly against Purity.
Some of them, whether intentionally or not, are evidently viola-
tions of common honesty. All of them are unhappy : all of them
may, with suitable care and faithfulness, be avoided. No man
will, I think, hesitate to say, that every Preacher of the Gospel is
bound to avoid them.
516 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII.
11. The Administrations of a Preacher are either Public or
Private.
The Public Administrations of a Preacher are principally con-
fined to the Sacraments and. to Discipline.
Purity in the Administration of the Sacraments demands^ that
they be administered to the proper and scriptural objects ; aDd of
course, that the Minister, with the utmost care, study, and faith-
fulness, determine in his own mind, and to his own satisfaction,
who are those proper objects. He is bound to remember, " that
other foundation" of the church, or temple, of God " can no man
lay, than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ ; that he, and every
other Minister, is bound to take heed how he buiideth thereupon ;
that if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious
stones, wood, hay, stubble, every man's work shall be made man-
ifest ; for the day shall declare it ; because it shall be revealed
by fire : and the fire shall try every man's work, of what sort it
is. If any man's work abide, which he hath built thereupon, he
shall receive a reward. If any man's work shall be burnt, he
shall suflJer loss. Himself indeed, if found faithful, shall be saved,
yet so as by fire." It cannot be necessary, that I should attempt
to enforce these declarations.
Purity in the manner of administering- Sacraments demands,
that their nature, end, and use, be faithfully and effectually ex-
plained ; that the great truths, which they so powerfully exhibit,
be strongly inculcated ; that the deep interest, which ail men
have in coming to them evangelically, be frequently and forcibly
inculcated ; and that they be conducted with the highest ear-
nestness, solemnity, and affection.
Purity in the administration of Discipline requires indispensa-
bly, that it be undertaken with the utmost care, caution, forbear-
ance and tenderness ; and at the same time, with steadfast fidel-
ity and firmness. None but gentle passions of the Minister ought
here to have any place. No other passions of the Brethren
ought to find the least indulgence. The only appearance of any
single act of Discipline ought to be, not as it sometimes is, that
of the prosecution of private revenge, but that of discharging an
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 517
indispensable duty to God, and to Christians ; intentionally di-
rected only to the good of the offender, the edification of the
churcl), the advancement of religion, and the glory of Christ.
Here, " the wisdom which is from above, which is without par-
tiality," ought supremely to control, and beautifully to shine.
Here especially, " the Servant of the Lord must not strive, but
be gentle unto all men." At the same time, there are occasions,
on which he is required " to rebuke" both solemnly and sharply ;
that those who are rebuked " may be sound in the faith." On
all occasions also, he is bound " to watch for the souls" of his
flock ; that he may approve himself a " a faithful and wise ser-
vant ;" although for this conduct he may endure many afflic-
tions.
The Private administrations of a Minister are information^
demanded by the ignorance ; exhortation^ by the sloth ; and re-
proof by the manifest sins, of his people. The members of every
congregation need continually to have their ignorance removed ;
their faith settled ; their doubts dispelled ; their duty explained ;
and particularly those, which are called cases of conscience, so
determined, as to prevent, or recall from, error and sin, af)d to
guide to truth and righteousness. Beside the faithfulness, neces-
sary for the discharge of this, as well as of every other, ministerial
duty, two things are especially required here : the knowledge' of
the Scriptures and the knowledge of the human character ,• or,
more definitely, the knowledge of man as a moral being. The
general character of man, as a moral being, is most extensively,
exactly, and wonderfully communicated in the Scriptures. But
the peculiar traits, which distinguish one man from another, can
never be learned, except from man himself. So vast and various
a subject can never be comprised within the compass of any
book. To gain this knowledge, every Minister must with un-
ceasing care and attention apply himself to the study of men ;
and learn them from themselves. Cases of conscience, doubts,
and difficulties, he will find ever varying from each other in some-
thing, and in something which deserves his attentive regard. To
Vol. n. 66
518 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII.
their own accounts, particularly, he must lend a patitnt and
watchful ear; that he may learn the true nature of their difficul-
ties, distinguish between their real and imaginary evidences of
piety, and between false aiKl well founded hopes ; mark carefully
their self-flattery, their causeless despondency ; and effectually
discriminate between these and their solid consolations, their
genuine light, and their evangelical joy. All these and the like
thing? he must learn from Men ; for he will find them imperfectly
recounted in books. Vigilance and perseverance will make him
possessed of this invaluable knowledge. When possessed of it,
he is bound to apply it to the several cases, presented to him,
with fidelity ; whether the application be painful or pleasant,
comfortable or discouraging ; without flattery or concealment,
and with the utmost tenderness and concern for each indi-
vidual.
His private exhortations he is required to administer on every
proper occasion : to watch opportunities, as an eminent Divine
once expressed it, to drop a word for God ; to urge his fellow
Christians to their duty, especially when they are dull and reluc-
tant ; to move and invigorate pious and charitable purposes in
their minds ; to quicken diligence ; to rouse activity ; and to
temper zeal.
Purity in administering private reproof demands, that for all
private transgressions, and for many which are not private, the
reproof be administered privately. " Go, and tell thy brother his
fault, between him and thee alone," is a rule, which cannot be
too much regarded by a Minister of the Gospel. Nor in any
case, except where necessity requires it, should the facts be dis-
closed afterwards. To reprove successfully is an attainment of
high importance, and far less common than could be wished.
The great secret of doing it lies in seizing the happiest opportu-
nities ; in possessing, and manifesting, the gentle, meek, and for-
bearing spirit of the Gospel ; and in evincing a desire of nothing,
but doing real good to him who is reproved. Pride, petulance,
and passion, airs of superiority, resentment, or indifference, sting-
sER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 519
ing expressions, and even those which are blunt, or cold, are to-
tally out of place here ; and will awaken no emotions, but those
of anger, opposition, and contempt. Even the Psalmist could
say, " Let the righteous smite me kindly, and reprove me : let
not their precious oil break my head." At the same time, every
Minister should remember, that to reprove privately, as well as
publicly, is one indispensable part of his duty ; " and that al-
though he who reproveth a scorner getteth to himself shame ;
yet as an ear-ring of gold, and an ornament of fine gold, so is a
wise reprover upon an obedient ear."
III. Purity of life involves Innocence, Prudence, and Activity.
" Be ye harmless as doves," was one of the directions, given
by our Saviour to his Apostles, when they were entering upon
their first mission ; and is still a direction of incalculable impor-
tance to every minister of the Gospel. Accordingly the first at-
tribute, required of a Bishop by St. Paul, is, that " he be blame-
less."
The character of a Minister should ever be regarded by him-
self, as demanding the same care, the same exact and delicate
attention, with that of refined and respectable women. In the
same manner, it is required of him by the world, not merely that
he do not transgress the acknowledged rules of Religion and
propriety, but that he keep at a remote distance from every fault,
and every reasonable suspicion. He must not be seen to ap-
proach, he must not in fact approach, he must not by sober and
candid men be suspected of approaching, towards transgression.
Let no Minister think these restrictions injurious, or burdensome.
On the contrary, they are eminently honourable and beneficial.
Their very existence proves, that Ministers have so conducted
themselves in this country, that this conduct from them is regu-
larly expected, as well as demanded. At the same time, they
furnish strong, and important security to every Minister of his
continuance in an umblamable character, and of his possession
of that pecuhar usefulness, which can be derived from no other
520 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII.
source. We cannot have too many inducements to do that
which is right, or to abstain from that which is wrong.
True Wisdom originally dwelt with Prudence; and dwells with
it always. When Christ directed his Apostles to " be harmless
as doves," he directed them also to "wise as serpents." This
cardmal excellence of mind .*vnds its chief employment in the
prevention and avoidance, of evil. How necessary is this excel-
lence in such a world as this, where evil is ever at hand ; and
where imprudent men are continually marring the best designs,
perplexing the peace, and preventing the happiness of their fel-
low men !
Among the essential ingredients of this excellence in a Minis-
ter gravity or sobriety is one; and one, of no trifling significance.
Accordingly it is expressly required by St. Paul in the character
of a Bishop. This characteristic is indispensable to give dignity
to his life, weight to his opinions, and authority to his reproofs.
Levity is wholly inconsistent with the nature of his office,
and with all personal dignity. Trifling conversation, light-min-
ded sentiments, and frivolous conduct, will, of course, humble
him to a very ordinary level ; and withdraw from him all the res-
pect, naturally attached to his office. Caution, also, is an indis-
pensable ingredient of Prudence. A single rash, headlong act may
deeply stain, or wholly destroy his character. He is bound,
therefore, habitually to watch all his conduct ; to consider well
before he resolves; to abstain, in this sense, "from every appear-
ance of evil ;" and, in every difficult or doubtful case, to apply
himself for counsel to those in whom he can safely confide. Es-
pecially ought he to be cautious of interfering, without plain ne-
cessity, in the concerns of others, where the interference is not
demanded by the nature of his office. St. Peter appears to
class a " busy-body in other men's matters" with persons of the
vilest and most scandalous characters.
Affability, modesty, gentleness, and moderation, are also traits
in the character of Prudence, each of which is of no small im-
portance. Men intentionally reserved are rarely loved ; proud,
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 521
vain, and self-confide. it, men are either hated or despised ; harsh
men are loathed of course ; and vehement men distrusted and
dreaded. He, who would be loved and trusted, must distinguish
himseil by a character, directly opposed to all these disagreeable
defects.
Bui the chief ingredient of Prudence is " watchfulness over
the tongue." " My Brethren," says St. James, " if any man
among you seem to be religious, and bridieth not his tongue, but
deceiveth his own heart, thdt man's rehgion is vain." And again,
"If any man otiend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and
able also to bridle the whole body." " By thy words," saith our
Saviour, " shall thou be justified ; and by thy words shalt thou
be condemned." " Death and Life," says Solomon, " are in the
power of the tongue, and whoso keepeth his mouth and his
tongue keepeth his soul from troubles." With these solemn decla-
rations in view, every Minister is powerfully called on to unite
with David in that earnest prayer, " Set a watch, O Lord, before
my mouth, keep the door of my lips !" The evils, especially op-
posed to this great ministerial duty, and from which incalculable
mischief sometimes flows, are particularly the following. Giving
characters ; reciting private history ; uttering sentiments and ex-
pressions of levity, passion, and contempt; delivering sudden
and rash opinions ; attacking with bitterness such as are opposed
to us, either in opinion, or conduct ; and discovering strong wish-
es to shine, by attempting frequently bold, brilliant, and witty
observations ; assuming the character of satirists ; embarking in
our conversation in private contentions : and thus shewing, that
we enter unduly into the wishes and resentments of others. He
who does these things will, after all the warnings of St. James,
not unfrequently be surprised to " behold, how great a matter, a
little fire iindleth."
All the observations, which I have made under this head hith-
erto, respect merely the avoidance of doing evil. This, though
perhaps the most difficult part of a Minister's duty, is yet only an
indirect manner of doing good. Purity of life demands of the
522 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII.
Preaclier, that he do good directly also ; and that in this honour-
able employment he exert an unceasing Activity.
In his study this activity is first to be employed. Sloth is the
source of almost all serious defects in a Preacher. Sloth is ne-
cessarily, and regularly, the source of ignorance ; and an igno-
rant Teacher is a self contradiction. Sloth is also the source of
barrenness of thought and therefore of dullness in the Preacher,
and inattention in his hearers. Sloth is also the source of bar-
renness of instruction ; and therefore of ignorance, error, and
stupidity, in his hearers. Few employments are more laborious
and difficult, than to preach continually, and yet acceptably and
usefully, for a considerable series of years. Almost any man of
tolerable information, choosing the happiest seasons of thought,
and the subjects with which he is best acquainted, may form a
few good Sermons, with no other labor than that of composing
them. The difficulty lies in providing such Sermons for ten,
twenty, and thirty years in succession. No man, who does not
study, can overcome this diiliculty. Whatever powers of ima-
gination or eloquence he may possess ; he will still be defective
in useful information, sound sense, and solid thought ; and will
soon find, that for these, as the means of entertainmg, as well as
profiting, his audience, there can be no substitute. The great
business of a Preacher is to preach the Truth. Without diligent
study the Truth cannot be known by him : without study, there-
fore, his prime duty cannot be faithfully performed. At the same
time, his sloth will be a wound to his conscience, which he cannot
heal ; and a reproach to his character, which he cannot wipe
away.
Abroad, his Activity must be extended to all his concerns. He
must visit, instruct, and comfort, the sick and the distressed ;
allay, as much as in him lies, the heat and violence of conten-
tion ; reconcile such as are employed in it ; and preserve peace
and good neighbourhood among his people : remembering, that
" the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace, of them who make
peace." He must also devise, encourage, and invigorate, all
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 523
prudent, charitable efforts ; strengthen the hands of parents and
instructors in the virtuous education of children ; and promote
by every proper means the good order and welfare of his coun-
try. In all these desirable things he must not be merely an advi-
ser, and exhorter, but an eminent and distinguished example.
" His light must so shine before others, that they, seeing his good
works, may," by approving and imitating his amiable conduct,
" glorify our Father who is in heaven ;" and that his flock, by his
hfe, as weil as his preaching, may be drawn after him in his way
to eternal glory.
REMARKS.
From this summary account of what is included in the purity
of the Ministerial character its nature may, I hope, be in some
good measure discerned. The importance of this attribute is in
the most forcible manner displayed in the text. " If the salt
have lost its savour, it is thenceforth good for nothing ; but to be
cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men." An entire want
of purity is, to a Minister, an entire want of worth ; in the eyes
of both God and men. Beyond this, it is a character loathsome
and contemptible, a violation of all his professions, a sacrifice of
all his duty. Evert/ approach towards it is, therefore, to be
dreaded, and shunned.
When a Minister, then, calls to mind the commission which
he has received, the hand by which it was written, the employ-
ment to which he is consecrated, and the divine end for which
his office is instituted by God ; will it be possible, that he should
fail to cultivate with unceasing earnestness and zeal Purity of
preaching, of administrations, and of life ? Can he fail to " watch
thereto with all perseverance ?" Will he not " bow his knees"
daily " to the Father of all mercies, for wisdom to direct" him,
and for "grace to help in time of need ?" Will he not "seek
for it, as for silver ; and search for it, as for hidden treasure ?"
Purity is the seasoning of his Ministry, the sweetness and ami-
524 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII
ableness of his character, and the means of preserving his flock
from corruption and ruin.
" I venerate," says the illustrious Cowper,
"I venerate the man, whose heart is warm.
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose Hfe,
Coincident, exhibit lucid proof,
That he is honest in the sacred cause."
What man of common candour, or even common sobriety,
would not subjoin to this sentiment his solemn Amen ? What
Minister would not watch, and strive, and pray, unceasingly, that,
in an office so sacred, with a destination so dignified, and m a
cause so momentous ; he may establish, preserve, and exhibit, a
character, on which all his usefulness and peace of mind so evi-
dently depend ? At the same time, let every Minister, and every
church and congregation, strongly realize the excellence as ivell
as the importance, of this office; and of that evangelical Purity
of heart and life, which is its soul and substance. "Ye are the
Salt of the earth," said our Lord Jesus Christ to his disciples ;
including probably some, who through life continued to be pri-
vate Christians, as well as others, who were destined to the apos-
tleship, and to the ministry. The excellence of all christians is
their Christianity. The peculiar excellence of Ministers lies in
the diligent, zealous, and faithful application of their Christianity
to the great purposes of persuading others to become Christians,
and of preserving and edifying those who have already assumed
the Christian character. " Ye are the Salt of the earth :" the
means of preserving it from final and fatal corruption. This
great world is every where, naturally, an immense mass of putre-
faction ; corrupted with error ; tainted with sin ; and, left to
itself, tending rapidly to absolute ruin. The great instrument in
the hands of God, both for restoring and preserving it, so as to
be fitted for the use, of which it is capable, and rendering it
again an object of the divine complacency ; is unquestionably
the ministry of the Gospel.
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 625
The Pulpit, says the excellent Poet, whom I just now quoted.
" I say the Pulpit (in the sober use
Of its legitimate, peculiar powers)
Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand,
The most important and effectual guard.
Support, and ornament, of virtue's cause.
There stands the messenger of truth. There stands
The legate of the skies. His theme divine,
His office sacred, his credentials clear.
By him, the violated law speaks out
Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the gospel whispers peace.
He stablishes the strong, restores the weak.
Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart;
And, arm'd himself in panoply complete
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms,
Bright as his own, and trains by every rule
Of holy discipline to glorious war.
The sacramental host of God's elect.
If any man demands evidence of the soundness of these dec-
larations let him cast his eyes, for a moment only, on those coun-
tries, or even on those parts of his own country, which have been
long destitute of the ministry of the Gospel ; and he will find
proofs, of the most convincing kind. He will find religion un-
known ; morals languishing, or dead ; extreme ignorance uni-
versally prevalent ; knowledge neglected and despised ; vice
reigning triumphantly ; virtue expiring at her feet ; the Bible un-
read and forgotten; the Sabbath devoted to horse-racing, visiting,
revelling, and riot ; the tongue an instrument of profaneness and
blasphemy ; the hands mere weapons of injustice and violence,
or mere tools of avarice and fraud ; the salvation of the soul un-
attempted, and unthought of; the life of man that of a profli^
gate ; and his death that of a brute. From this miserable pros-
pect let him turn his eye to the " Mount Zion" of Christians, " and
go round about her. Let him tell the towers thereof; mark well
her bulwarks, and consider her palaces." Then let him, if he
€an, refrain from exclaiming with David, " Beautiful for situation,
Vol. II. 67
526 THE PURITY [SER. XXXII.
the joy, of the whole earth, is Mount Zion, in the sides of the
North, the city of the great King." Let him, if he can, refrain
from bcheving, that " the Lord hath chosen Zion ;" that " he
hath desired it for his habitation :" or that he hath said, " This
is my rest forever : here will I dwell ; for I have desired it. I
will abundantly bless her provision ; I will satisfy her poor with
bread : I will also clothe her priests with salvation : and her
saints shall shout aloud for joy."
To a faitiiful Minister, then, labouring diligently to perform the
duties of an office, instituted, approved, and commended by
God; sustained by the glorious Redeemer, while he tabernacled
in the flesh ; so honourable in itself; destined only to the most
benevolent and desirable purposes ; the means of preserving this
great world from absolute destruction ; and the chief instrument
of restoring to mankind virtue, glory, and immortality ; the
members of every church and congregation are bound, both by
the authority of God, and their own supreme good, to lend con-
tinually their countenance and aid. By these solemn obligations,
they are required to receive and welcome the evangelical doc-
trines which he delivers ; to assist all his benevolent efforts to
promote the common good, and that of individuals ; meekly to
receive his reproofs and exhortations ; generally to render his life
useful and comfortable, and his weight and influence as a minis-
ter as effectual, as may be to every evangelical purpose.
The best Minister is a man ; and of course surrounded by hu-
man imperfections. St. Peter has taught us, what he well knew
by unhappy experience, that this treasure is placed in earthen
vessels ; made of humble materials, frequently defective in their
structure, and easily broken to pieces. A church and congrega-
tion are, therefore, required both by reason and revelation to re-
gard the imperfections of a Minister with moderation and tender-
ness. It may be thought, that I have delineated the duties of a
Minister with a rigid hand : it will' scarcely be suspected, that
I have drawn them with a lax one. But, while I think Mm
indispensably bound to labour diligently and faithfully to per-
SER. XXXII.] OF THE MINISTERIAL CHARACTER. 527
form these duties ; I regard his hearers as equally bound to per-
form theirs ; to regard him kindly in all his evangelical exer-
tions ; to remember his work and labour of love ; to consider
the difficulties with which it is attended ; and to keep in view the
numerous imperfections within, and discouragements without,
with which he is obliged to struggle. Even Paul could not help
exclaiming, " Who is sufficient for these things V All the diffi-
culties, which he found, except such as arise from persecution,
still remain, and are still attached to the office. If his hearers
remember this, and consider its importance : if they regard him
with Christian affection ; if they treat him with evangelical kind-
ness ; if they aid him with continual and fervant prayers to God ;
he and they will be mutually blessed in the present world ; and
become to each other " a crown of rejoicing in the day of Christ
Jesus." Amen !
THE END OF VOL. II.
DATE DUE
JUN 3 0Z0)2
GAYLORD
rED IN U S
Princeton Theological Seminary-Speer Ubrary
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